


Tales of the Greenwood

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [19]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Backstory, Brotherhood, Dragons, Dwarves, Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emyn Duir, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Greenwood, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Loss, Mentor/Protégé, Spanking, barrow wights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 136,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short stories about the elves of the Greenwood, set in the DH AU.</p><p>New Chapter 29 -32: It's Called Treason </p><p>"It's Called Treason" summary:  Treason can be very tempting when you are a great King’s heir, and your opinion on some issue of towering importance differs from his. Faramir knows this, but Legolas sometimes forgets, even though he is far more experienced than Faramir when it comes to committing treason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Will the Dwarves Think?

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary: A conversation that takes place during the events of the Hobbit, between Thranduil Oropherion and his chief advisor.
> 
> A/N: Thanks to Emma and Kaylee for reading this over, and most of all for letting me borrow their Greenwood elves from their series "The Greenwood Chronicles." The DH AU already has more than enough OCs of its own, so its lovely to play with wonderful OCs who were created by someone else. Please note that all of my stories are AU; I have tried to be true to Emma and Kaylee's characterization of these elves, but this is not a preview of what Emma and Kaylee's elves will be like in the Third and Fourth Ages. It is just an idea of what they might be like, in my alternate universe.
> 
> If you'd like to read more of Emma and Kaylee's series, The Greenwood Chronicles, they are beginning to be posted on AO3 at: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743

Lord Herdir Cemendurion, Chief Advisor to the Aran of the Greenwood, blinked and took a deep breath. He found himself amazed that his tithen Aran could apparently still shock him with ridiculously bizarre flights of illogic, even after all these centuries. He had thought Thranduil had outgrown that tendency, sometime during the last few millenia.

But Herdir loved Thranduil like a son as well as a King, so he took another deep breath, and repeated his Aran's explanation to make sure that he had understood it, rubbing his forehead to dispel his sudden tension headache. "You imprisoned the dwarves....because you think that one of them is a spy for Sauron, and you want Sauron to think that you hate all the dwarves."

Thranduil muttered, "He's got a spy somewhere. I know he does. It might be one of them. I told Galion and the guard captain not to watch the dwarves too carefully, so that they could escape."

Herdir, gritting his teeth, asked "Aran- nin, you do realize that the DWARVES now think you hate dwarves? "

Thranduil was taken aback, having evidently not considered that wrinkle. After all, THRANDUIL knew Thranduil didn't mind dwarves, that much. "Well, once we know which one of them is the spy, we can apologize. Or you or Legolas can. You're better at it than I am." Thranduil paused for a moment, "Actually, let's send Theli. He likes almost everybody, including dwarves, and he's GREAT at apologizing. Otherwise his last suspension from the army would have been permanent." 

Herdir sighed, and wished for a moment that his young Aran had not inherited his paternal grandmother's penchant for such creative flights of fancy. Thank goodness Legolas seemed to have taken more after his mother and grandmother, and was showing some sense. At least most of the time. Because the last thing the Greenwood needed was another overly reckless, stubborn, and imaginative Crown Prince. 

But then, Sauron had planned to have their wood conquered a millennium ago. And elves of the Greenwood were still here, despite Dol Goldur, the necromancer, the wargs, the orcs, and the spiders. Maybe it took a combination of Lady Neldiel's creativity, his lost gwador King Oropher's obdurate stubbornness, and Queen Felith's quiet endurance to be the Aran of a land under siege. Come to think of it, recent indications showed that Thranduil's paranoia that someone on the White Council was leaking information to the Enemy might even be justified. 

Still, arresting a group of miners who were just trying to kill a dragon that the elves and their allies the humans WANTED gone, that just wasn't acceptable. Even if Thranduil was miffed that Mithrandir had sent the dwarves through the Greenwood without his permission, and that Galadriel and Elrond had colluded in that. 

Herdir took a deep breath, "Aran-nin, I think that something more than an apology may be called for. And I think that it should certainly involve you."


	2. Cold Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the weeks and months after Dagorlad, young King Thranduil and his people grieve. Meanwhile, an apprentice healer tries to help a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am borrowing Emma's and Kaylee's Greenwood elves, some of whom appear in this story. But please note that this is not a preview of what Emma and Kaylee's elves will be like in the Fourth Age, or what their Eryn Lasgalen will be like. Emma and Kaylee haven't reached that point in their story line, so the elves who are in my stories (except for Thranduil and Legolas) may well have died or sailed or moved elsewhere (or married a different elleth and had a different number of elflings or none at all) by the late Third or early Fourth age. Additionally, Emma and Kaylee's Eryn Lasgalen may be very different, for any number of reasons. But they have been kind enough to let me borrow their lovely OC's, and I have worked with them on characterization of those OC's. So it might be accurate to say that the DH AU is an AU of Emma's and Kaylee's Greenwood, but one with a number of differences, one where things are somewhat different, and characters have had different experiences which caused them to develop and mature in different manners.

The apprentice healer grinned cheerfully at the human farmer who had just sold him a number of fresh provisions. The farmer blinked at this strange elf, fair of face but evidently feeble of wit, for the price the farmer had just charged was practically highway robbery.

Theli's grin changed to one of mingled sympathy and amusement as he picked up on the human's confusion. Theli was a caring young elf, and felt very poorly for the farmers whose fields had been disrupted by the passage of their armies. And yes, this farmer had extorted Theli terribly, but the monies Master Nestorion had given to Theli to go and find food to tempt their patients more than covered the outrageous price. And the farmer could use the funds to try and start anew, in the spring. Theli was also a rather practical, objective-oriented elf. He'd had to be, to leave his village and go alone to seek further training as a healer, and to have become such a valued apprentice of a respected master healer before even reaching his 200th begetting day. In Theli's perspective, one couldn't buy health or happiness...so if expensive fresh food brought a smile to the injured elves and humans of the last alliance who were their charges, Theli figured that was beyond price. He thought Master Nestorion would agree, and forgive Theli his profligate spending.

And that was indeed the case. Master Nestorion, who was not a demonstrative elf, smiled in approval when he saw the fresh fruits and vegetables and the cart of chickens. He didn't even ask as to the cost, accepting the much depleted bag of coins with a pat to Theli's shoulder, and mixed praise and warning, "Ecthelion, I am most pleased that I can again rely on you as my procurement agent. But do remember this time that just because you would make an able assistant to the quartermaster, does not meant that you may go running off to aid him without notice and leave. Do you understand me, my dear apprentice?"

Theli blushed and nodded, and then proceeded about his duties in the shelter that the healers and the soldiers had made to house their wounded. The battle of the last alliance was dragging into nearly a decade, and the elves had lost more of their own than at any time since the War of Wrath. The humans had taken great losses as well, but the elves had been smaller in number from the beginning. Theli had overheard Master Nestorion, General Rochendil, and his friend Thranduil, their poor new Aran, conversing about that. General Rochendil had said that the elven realms may never recover their previous populations, or corresponding size and influence. Theli was only about 200 years old, and didn't have much of a sense of history, but even to him that was a terribly sad thing. Such a terribly sad time to be an elf, and to be a ruler of elves.

Soon enough, Theli was done with his assigned tasks, and the healer's post was quiet, for now. Before Dagorlad, Theli would have used his free time to tell stories with his cousin Emlyn, or to pester Thranduil or some of his other friends amongst the soldiers for extra sword lessons. Or sometimes Theli had asked Master Nestorion if he might go to assist Lord Elrond. The great half-elven Lord often went to serve as a healer amongst their human comrades, and Lord Elrond had taken an interest in Theli. Theli had only rarely even seen humans before the war started, and he quite liked them, and enjoyed accompanying Lord Elrond, who knew most of the human leaders and many of their soldiers by name.

But since Dagorlad, Theli had other priorities. So he took some of the fresh fruit and the just-cooked chicken, and some of the vegetables (but only the ones he knew Thranduil liked, so no carrots), and put them in a carry sack. He also took a few flasks of good liquor. Then, with Master Nestorion's subtle nod of approval, Theli set off to find his Aran. Hopefully, he would be able to persuade Thranduil to eat while Theli related the epic saga of how he had talked to a man he'd seen eating a fresh apple, and followed the trail of information through thirteen human soldiers (including some of Prince Imrazor's pirates) and then a dwarven mule handler before being given to the location of the market that was the smaller rival to the local human farmer's association. The association of farmers had already sold all of their food to the armies, but their less-well established (and possibly also illegal) rivals had not, and still had had food to sell to Theli.

Theli found that his Aran was still in a meeting with the commanders of the elven forces, which was taking place in Lord Celeborn's tent. Theli paused. He was willing to wait, but the grim-faced elven soldiers guarding the door seemed...unimpressed by Theli and his bags of food. Fortunately, some of Thranduil's escort was there as well, and one of the Aran's guards that night was Linwe. Linwe was a gwador of Thranduil's, and knew that Theli had become a friend of their King's over the past few months. He gave Theli a nod of greeting, and commanded the Lothlorien soldier who had been reaching for his sword, "Stand down, Lieutenant. This is Theli, an apprentice healer who is a friend of our Aran's, and who is good at, um, finding things. What have you found today, Theli?"

Theli smiled harmlessly at the soldiers, and showed them his prizes. He passed around the apples and the brandy, and watched as the soldiers carefully took only small sips, so that their vigilance would remain unimpaired. Linwe said that Theli might wait by the tent to share his finds and his story with his Aran, and nobody more senior contradicted Linwe. So Theli sat down on a rough hewn bench near the command tent, and hummed to himself as he waited to see if he could convince the still-grieving Thranduil to eat a good dinner, this night.

In little time at all Theli started shivering, as it was a cold night and he'd given his cloak away to an injured human. Again. Linwe gave Theli a look which Theli correctly interpreted as "silly elfling," and Theli sighed. Cousin Emlyn would scold him for having given away his cloak, and probably Master Nestorion would as well. Theli made a note to prioritize finding another cloak, soon, as he didn't want to be scolded. Lost in his thoughts, Theli jumped, startled, as a warm black cloak with touches of green and golden embroidery was dropped on to his shoulders. Theli turned around to see an elder elf whose name Theli didn't remember, grinning at him wryly.

"Well now, pen-neth, you wouldn't have liked the Helcaraxe at all, if you think this is a cold night." The golden-haired elf said mildly, but with sympathy and amusement in his tone.

Theli gave a grateful smile to his benefactor, whom he remembered now as being one of Lord Elrond's elves, "Thank you. But I can buy another cloak at the next town. You don't have to give me yours."

The golden-haired elf laughed brightly, "Your poor new Aran is having entirely too much fun arguing with my Lord and his Aran. I think it is best that you be warm whilst you wait."

Theli wrapped the borrowed cloak more tightly around himself, hiding a smile as he heard Thranduil's raised voice from within the tent. Thranduil might be younger than all of the other commanders by quite a lot, but it didn't stop him from speaking up, when he saw something he thought they had missed. And sometimes the elder commanders had missed whatever it was. Thranduil was quite smart, in Theli's opinion. Thranduil would probably have understood the reference that this elf had made when he let Theli borrow his cloak, and if his new Aran were here, Theli could have asked him about it. But maybe this elf wouldn't mind explaining. He was a very important elf, Theli could tell, but his eyes shone with kindness and mirth, as well as determination. Theli smiled brightly at the elven elder, before asking, "Um...if you don't mind my asking, what is the Helca...that.?"

The golden-haired elf raised an eyebrow, but didn't call Theli an ignorant elfling, as some elders might have. Nor did he mock Theli for Theli's rather thick Nandorin accent. Instead, the elder elf explained, his tone kind but distant. "What was the Helcaraxe....it was the griding ice, between Aman and Endore. The frigid, treacherous paths that we exiles of Aman walked to reach Middle Earth."

Theli's eyes widened, impressed that this elf had been there, for that. He was truly one of the eldest of elders, and well worthy of respect. In the village where Theli had been born, this elf probably would have been in charge, instead of Aran Ereinion, or Aran Thranduil. But Theli understood that this wasn't the village. "Thank you for explaining," Theli said instead, "that must have been awfully cold. I'm glad you made it across, and not just because it left you with a great indifference to the cold and a fine cloak which you have kindly shared with me tonight," Theli commented, his caring young heart touched by what this kind elder had endured.

The elven elder eyed Theli appraisingly. "I am glad, as well. If you don't mind my asking, pen-neth, what is a healer doing guarding the King, anyway?"

"Making sure he eats his dinner." Theli replied without thinking, and then blushed, for that made Thranduil sound like an idiot. Which Thranduil wasn't, but he wasn't at his best right now, when it came to remembering little things. Understandably so. And Thanduil had to be at his best in other ways. He didn't have a choice; the soldiers of Greenwood needed their Aran.

But the elder didn't seem to think that Theli had insulted his King, and was in fact nodding in approval. "That is well-done of you, little healer. What is your name?"

Theli blushed. This was always embarrassing, "Ecthelion, after the Lord of the House of the Fountain in Gondolin who slew a balrog. It was my mother's favorite story. I go by Theli, though." Theli quirked his head, worried that his benefactor was now seeming pensive rather than cheerful, and asked "What is your name, um, my Lord?" Theli figured this elder was a Lord. And if he wasn't, it was better to call him that, and be wrong, than to make a mistake. Elders outside of the village were touchy about that, some of them.

The golden-haired elf looked at the stars for a moment, as if seeing someone Theli couldn't see, then looked back at Theli. "Your namesake was one of my best friends." He said shortly, a vast well of grief that Theli could barely comprehend behind the words, though the elder's tone was level enough.

Theli's eyes widened in surprise as his heart went out to the elder who was amongst the greatest of elven heroes, but it was the surprise that he voiced, "Oh! You are the Lord Glorfindel then, the other balrog slayer. I'm honored indeed that you have let me borrow your cloak." Theli remarked sincerely.

Glorfindel's brief melancholy disappeared, and he laughed again. "How refreshing it is to be referred to as the "other" balrog slayer." He remarked, wise eyes twinkling as he commented, "My friend Ecthelion would have liked you well, Theli." The balrog-slayer's eyes then narrowed in recognition, "Say, aren't you the apprentice healer who ran away and became one of Ereinion's better scouts for several months?"

From nearby, Theli thought he heard Linwe snort derisively. Theli blushed, and then nodded, "That was me." He confessed, "It was quite a foolish thing to do. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Glorfindel patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, "I may be old, Theli, but I do remember exactly how these things can happen. Keep the cloak, tithen-pen. I have others, and I suspect you have many hours of waiting ahead of you, in these next weeks. Keep taking good care of your King, so that he can do his best by Greenwood."

"Thranduil is a good King." Theli affirmed softly, "Even though he really wishes he were still a Prince."

"I know, Theli. So do we all." Glorfindel agreed sadly, before standing up to accompany Lord Elrond as the Lord of Imladris and many other elves left the command tent. Thranduil wasn't one of them, to Theli's disappointment.

Lord Elrond smiled at Theli as he passed, and confided, "Thranduil has stayed behind to talk to our mutual kinsman Lord Celeborn. I think they both might appreciate a meal." Then one of Thranduil's other guards nodded to Theli. Theli grinned in thanks, and then darted inside to find his King, bags of food in hand, and the details of his day which he thought Thranduil might find the most amusing coming to his tongue.


	3. It's Not You, It's Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you tell your King that you're planning to go join another kingdom's army, without hurting his feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is set near the end of the War of the Last Alliance (S.A. 3429 - 3441), in the camp of Greenwood's army, probably in S.A. 3439 or 3440. The OC who is the subject of this story, Ecthelion (Theli), was introduced in "Cold Watch," Chapter 2 of this story. This chapter takes place after Cold Watch, probably at least several months later.
> 
> A quick note on timing of events for the DH AU during the slightly over 10 year War of the Last Alliance: I am holding to the canon series of events in some ways, but not in others. In canon, Dagorlad and the loss of half of Lothlorien's army both occurred in S.A. 3434, about Year 4 of the War. I'm putting the Battle of Dagorlad (which was when Oropher died) later in the war, to give Theli and Thranduil more time to become friends before Thranduil becomes King. But the loss of half of Lothlorien's army did occur in S.A. 3434 for the DH AU, although Amdir's death does not occur until near the end of the war (same day as Oropher's).
> 
> Theli is my original character, but the other Greenwood OC below (Lieutenant Fileg), and other Greenwood OCs who are mentioned and other information outside of what Tolkien gave, I am borrowing from Emma and Kaylee. Please note that this is not a preview of what Emma and Kaylee's elves will be like in the late Second Age. Emma and Kaylee haven't reached that point in their story line, and my storyline is AU, so their Greenwood and characters may be very different from their portrayal below, for any number of reasons. Fileg was introduced in Chapter 19 of Emma and Kaylee's story "The Journey to Greenwood."

"Thranduil? Um, Aran-nin?" A soft, hesitant voice called out.

Thranduil Oropherion, who now answered, reluctantly and unhappily, to Aran-nin, turned around, his guards fanning out behind him. Thranduil's guard and companion, Lieutenant the Lord Fileg, relaxed almost immediately, as it was just Healer Theli. And Fileg knew Theli, from before Thranduil had become Aran. From when Lieutenant Thranduil and Theli had been engaged in a lesson swap of sorts, tutelage in interesting curse words in foreign languages (from Theli) in exchange for swordsmanship lessons (from Thranduil).

"Yes, Theli?" Thranduil said, his voice dull. Fileg hid a wince. His gwador was not having a good day.

"Um, I'm leaving. I wanted to let you know. Um, it's not you, it's me. Or I mean it's not Greenwood...I understand, rules are rules even if I'm not sure they make sense to me. Um, they don't have to, that is." Theli babbled nervously.

Thranduil blinked at that stream of disconnected ideas, as did Fileg. Then Thranduil nodded slowly. Apparently interpreting the young healer's statement as meaning that Theli had decided to return home to Greenwood (although Fileg had no idea how Theli's statement had made any sense whatsoever to his gwador), Thranduil replied, with an attempt at warmth that didn't fool Fileg, but might fool others, "I see. Well, you've had a longer war than some, and I suppose it's not for all elves. Fair journey home, Theli."

Fileg wasn't sure whether Thranduil's dead tone meant that Thranduil envied Theli, or resented him, or was just too tired and grieved, or depressed, to care, today. Theli might be able to go home, but Greenwood's army could not, although several of Thranduil's senior advisors had suggested it might be the best thing for their new Aran. But Fileg knew Thranduil well, and knew that there was no way their tithen Aran would ever leave his army in the field, barring a severe injury to Thranduil's person. It just wasn't who Thranduil was. But that didn't mean he had to approve of a young elf just quitting. Even if part of Thranduil understood, as part of Fileg did, too.

The attempt at warmth didn't seem to have fooled Theli either. The young healer with the light brown hair and dark blue eyes frowned worriedly at Thranduil, before clarifying, "No, I'm not going home. I'm leaving our camp for Imladris' camp. Lord Elrond and Captain Glorfindel said that they would let me fight, as well as heal, and I want to fight."

Thranduil's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in annoyance. "You're not even half-trained. You're going to get killed. It's a stupid idea, Theli."

Fileg's eyes had widened, too. He'd heard that Thranduil's little friend had been bothering Rochendil to join the army, but this was...unusual. On a number of levels. Greenwood's army would never have sworn in a soldier who hadn't completed a decades long training program. Thranduil had actually been a bit amused by Theli pestering Rochendil to join the army, a few years ago. Before Dagorlad. Around the time when Fileg had suspected that Thranduil had agreed to teach Theli swordsmanship in part because Thranduil had been annoyed with Master Healer Nestorion for making a fuss out of what Thranduil had considered a minor wound, and Thranduil knew that encouraging one of Nestorion's apprentices to take up the sword would bother Nestorion. Thranduil had not been thinking that Theli would join this war, Fileg was certain. More that, perhaps Theli might someday enter the training program for Greenwood's army, upon their return home, if this war ever ended.

Theli stood a bit straighter, and his dark blue eyes shone with determination. Fileg blinked, because Theli, whom Fileg had previously only seen smiling and joking, now reminded him of a younger version of Thranduil, all willfulness and stubborn determination to be taken seriously, despite his youth.

"I didn't get killed when I accidentally ran away and fought in Lothlorien's army, for those months." Theli said softly, but firmly, before adding, with an rueful, honest half-smile, "I grant you a good deal of that was luck, but not all of it. And I know a lot more now, than I did then. And I don't really care. I mean, I don't want to die, or anything. But a lot of elves are dying, and I want to help."

"You are helping, you idiot." Thranduil snapped. "We need you here as a healer, I'm sure." Thranduil wasn't actually sure of that, but he figured that Greenwood must have only a finite supply of trained healers. And Theli had once stitched a small cut on Thranduil's hand when Nestorion had been busy with a soldier whose arm had nearly been cut clear off by a Haradrim scimitar. Theli had seemed competent enough to Thranduil, and his hands were gentle and deft. More, Nestorion thought highly of Theli, and would not like this idea at all, Thranduil was sure.

Theli looked a bit downcast at that, but his stance was still determined, and even a bit defiant, as he explained, "I know, and I didn't want to leave Master Nestorion...um, I mean, leave him short of help. So I talked to Lord Elrond, and he talked to the Lindon healers, and um, one of them can take my place, here. And Lord Elrond will keep training me, in between battles." Theli added.

"I can't deal with this, now." Thranduil muttered, low and in pain. Too low for anyone but Fileg to hear, but Theli looked abashed for having been the cause of the pained expression.

"I just wanted you to know, that it's not you, or Greenwood, it's me." Theli repeated, apologetic and half-ashamed, but still determined. "If you'll have me back, after this war is over, well, I'm your elf, Aran-nin. But I have to go where they'll let me help, now."

Thranduil held up a hand for Theli to be quiet and stay put, before saying softly to Fileg, "Remind me to talk to cousin Elrond about appropriating my elves. Particularly the young and stupid ones whom I find for some reason appealing."

Fileg nodded, making a mental note. Although Fileg didn't know of any other young and stupid elves whom Thranduil was particularly fond of. Its not that Thranduil didn't like younger elves, it was just that he'd never spent much time with them. There'd been no reason for him to. In fact, Thranduil and Theli would have never met if they hadn't both been assigned the same punishment chores, at the same time.

"Very well, Theli." Thranduil said, but his voice was at least alive with annoyance now, rather than dull and lifeless. "I think you're being a fool, but if you survive, I'll have you back."

Theli nodded gratefully, looking very young to Fileg's eyes as he said "Thank you, Thranduil, um, Aran-nin. And, when I can, I'll still help here." The stubbornness and defiance was gone from the young healer's stance and tone, and his gaze held only apology, and fondness for his Aran, mixed with maybe just a touch of hero-worship.

And Fileg supposed that last was fair enough, Lieutenant Thranduil had been an impressive warrior, well worthy of a little hero-worship from a young elf who aspired to be a soldier as well as a healer. Even if Thranduil hadn't been the Crown Prince, and now the King.

Thranduil looked like he wanted to say something caustic, but instead he said only, "Well enough, Theli. Be well." And this time the fond warmth in Thranduil's tone, though faint and overshadowed by annoyance, was genuine.

Fileg suspected that Thranduil was only too aware that this might be the last time he saw his young friend. And for that reason, Thranduil was restraining himself from calling Theli stupid again, or parting in anger over Theli's idiocy and, well, defiance. A lot of Kings would have called what Theli had just told Thranduil, which was, after all, essentially the same as saying: 'My King, I'm going off to join another country's army to get around our country's laws and your will, but I'll come back and be your subject again later if you like,' treason, or at least desertion, rather than mere stupidity. Fileg didn't know if Thranduil wasn't calling it that simply because it hadn't occurred to him, or because, on some level, Thranduil actually had some sympathy for Theli's aims. Fileg rather thought it was the latter. This was something that a younger Thranduil might have done himself, actually, if it weren't for his family and gwedyr, who wouldn't have let him. Fileg wondered for a moment where Theli's family was, and what they might think of this.

"You be well, too." Theli said wistfully, and turned to leave. Belatedly remembering that he should bow, Theli turned back, and bowed awkwardly, before heading off at a gait that Fileg could only think of as a scamper.

Thranduil cursed, and muttered, "There goes another dead elf."

Fileg didn't reply. He thought Thranduil was probably right. As this long war neared its end, the fighting was only becoming more bitter and fierce. Elves with centuries of experience were dying every day, now. An apprentice healer who'd picked up the sword less than a decade ago didn't stand a chance, in Fileg's opinion. Fileg thought about remarking that Thranduil had done his best to dissuade Theli, which would have been true, but no comfort, so Fileg didn't say that. Thranduil had done his best to save Oropher, and others, and it hadn't mattered. "Maybe he'll surprise us." Fileg said instead, trying to make it sound as if he had some real hope of that, and in fact succeeding, because Fileg belatedly realized that he did, in fact, expect to see Theli again, someday. Theli was young and and possessed all of the foolishness that went along with being young; but he was also clever and lucky.

Thranduil snorted. "Well, that would be a pleasant surprise." Then a rare smile (well, rare since Dagorlad) curved the young Aran's lips, and his blue eyes sparkled. "If Theli does survive, can you imagine poor Rochendil and the other training officers, dealing with him after the war?"

Thranduil paused for a moment, shaking his head, before mimicking Theli's Nandorin accent and fast-paced speech patterns,"'Well, when I fought in the War of the Last Alliance, for Lothlorien and then Imladris, we did things this way. And I don't see why you're saying that we should do them that way, when this way makes more sense to me. So, why do you want us to do it that way?'" Still mimicking Theli, Thranduil paused with a confused-but-polite expression on his face, a very Theli expression which was entirely alien to the Aran's expressive features, but almost made Fileg laugh, as Thranduil was a talented mimic, and this was the first time Thrani had felt up to exercising that ability, in a while.

Then Thranduil continued, still playing Theli, "'Wait a moment, General sir. Why are you upset about my asking you questions? I don't mind doing it your way if there's a good reason. Because you say so? That's not a reason, at all, um, sir. And I really don't see how that kind of attitude is productive, outside of a combat situation or simulation, anyway. No, I didn't think this was a combat simulation, sir, I thought it was a training exercise. Well, ok, but when can I ask questions?'" Thranduil then actually chuckled, a harsh sound without a lot of humor in it, but a laugh nonetheless, before remarking in his own voice, "One reason to actually be glad I'm not just another officer anymore. I won't ever have to deal with veteran-the-trainee Ecthelion, of the never-ending impertinent questions."

Fileg smiled back. "A cheery thought you can share with Rochendil later, gwador. For now, we're late."

Thranduil nodded, and Fileg was cheered to see that Thranduil's eyes were still alert, and that his posture was focused and energetic now, rather than depressed. "We are," Thranduil agreed, his tone now intent, "And I've had an idea, about how to place those siege engines so that they work better for us. Let's go."

Fileg followed his gwador, but his gaze turned around once in the direction of Theli's exit. This had started out looking to be a bad for Thranduil, but arguing with Theli had turned that around. Fileg had heard, from Linwe, that Theli seemed to have a knack for drawing Thranduil out of bad days. Not as surely as Thranduil's gwedyr or edair-i-gur could, but sometimes less painfully. And now Fileg had seen that Linwe was right, about that. And so Fileg said a silent prayer to the Valar, to watch out for brave young fools who weren't as clever as they thought they were, because even when Thranduil was highly annoyed with Theli, the young healer elf seemed to be good for Fileg's gwador. And that was enough, for Fileg to devoutly hope that Theli survived the war. Because Fileg wouldn't mind dealing with a really annoying soldier trainee who was also a know-it-all junior healer, not if Thranduil got a chuckle out of him.


	4. Ecthelion in the Orc Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, a Greenwood elf named Ecthelion (Theli) made friends with an orc. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The main story is set sometime after 1400 T.A. and before the Watchful Peace begins in T.A. 2053, the prologue is set a couple of weeks after Frodo Baggins Day in Fourth Age Year 16. As background, Theli (Ecthelion) is a healer and soldier elf in the service of King Thranduil of the Greenwood. He also appears in other chapters of this story, including "Cold Watch;" and "It's not you, it's me," and in a chapter of the tales of the elves of Lothlorien, "Aid from an Unexpected Quarter."
> 
> Thanks to Emma and Kaylee for reading this story over, and letting me borrow their Greenwood OC's, including Linwe, Fileg, and Nestorion. Thanks to Beth f or inspiring me to return to this story. Hope you like this story of an elf forming a tentative, temporary friendship of sorts with an orc!

Prologue, the Long Gallery in the King's House of Minas Tirith

Faramir's middle daughter Mithiriel leaned forward, her striking gray-green eyes sparkling with interest, "Uncle Legolas says that you once befriended an orc, cousin Theli. Is that true?"

Mithiriel's grandfather Aragorn was half-paying attention, half-focusing on his chess game with his older son, Faramir. And reflecting that Mithiriel's loveliness was particularly overwhelming, whenever she was intrigued by something. Which was most often. Given Faramir and Eowyn's rather laissez-faire approach to Theodwyn's courtships, Aragorn was afraid that he and Arwen were going to have to practice being scary grandparents. Then the King of Men sighed, because Arwen was probably going to be on Faramir and Eowyn's side.

Faramir's youngest daughter Haleth stopped her game of helping Aragorn's younger daughter Gilwen to arrange Amroth's army of toy soldiers, to listen. Gilwen sighed, but followed her playmate (who was also her niece, but all of her nieces were older than she. It was a peculiar fact of the youngest Princess's world).

Their elven cousin Ecthelion, called Theli, adjusted the sling on his arm as he answered distractedly, "Yes, that's true...well, sort've true." Blinking eyes of such a deep blue color that it sometimes appeared black, Theli corrected himself, "Well, it wasn't so much that I befriended an orc, as that I once had a moment of mutual-not-wanting-to-kill-oneanother-for-a-little-while, with an orc."

Faramir looked up from his chess game with his father, "That's still an impressive feat of diplomacy, in and of itself. How did it come about?" he asked, his gray eyes gleaming in a way that made the resemblance between he and Mithiriel quite plain.

Aragorn sighed, and teased his son and Steward, "You are losing, ion-nin, and so therefore, you are easily distracted."

"Not true." Legolas disagreed with an impish grin, pointing to a trap that Elrohir had recently taught to him and Faramir, which Faramir had properly laid so that it would soon lead to the inevitable capture of Aragorn's King.

"Ah." Aragorn commented as he tipped the piece with a chuckle. His own gray eyes gleaming with fatherly pride, Aragorn reached out a hand to pat Faramir's shoulder affectionately, "Well-done, ion-nin. Even if I suspect Uncle Elrohir has once again been teaching you tricks of Eldacar's court."

Faramir smiled shyly back at his father, but Aragorn could tell that he still wanted his elven friend to tell the story of befriending an orc. Faramir had a softness for hopeless causes that bewildered and worried his father, at times. And it seemed likely to Aragorn that his younger granddaughters Mithiriel and Haleth, at the least, had inherited that characteristic.

Elrohir grinned, proud of his pupil, and Elladan rolled his eyes, leaning forward to eye Theli with concern. "If the sling is uncomfortable, Theli, I can adjust it for you." As a courtesy to his fellow healer, Elladan did not mention that it was still too soon after the injury to dispense with the sling except during sleep.

Elrohir and Legolas exchanged bewildered glances, before Elrohir remembered, "Ah, yes. The antagonism between the two of you was all an act the last few centuries." Elrohir gave his twin a lightly reproving glare.

Elladan gave Elrohir an apologetic look, and Theli disagreed, "It was more...a friendly rivalry, than antagonism, really..."

"Oh, no." Elladan disagreed cheerfully, "I loathed you for yeni. Since not long after I first came of age, until when you patched me up under fire in Mordor, that first time."

Conversation stopped. Aragorn coughed uncomfortably, then chided, "Elladan, muindor, one does not generally confess to having loathed others, particularly not if one is now friends with them."

"At least not without first consuming copious amounts of alcohol." Melpomaen joked lightly, giving Theli an apologetic look. Melpomaen had spent the better part of his lifetime apologizing for Elladan's unwavering bluntness in social situations.

Theli laughed, "It's all right. I more or less knew that I wasn't your favorite elf, Elladan. At least after you took the time to write Greenwood's Master Healer Nestorion to mention that you hadn't seen my abominable handwriting in over a hundred years, and inquire as to why I alone of the Greenwood healers had been excused from inventorying and correspondence duties with Imladris' healers?"

Scandalized, Arwen laughed disbelievingly, "Elladan, you didn't!"

"Oh, of course I did, muinthel." Elladan disagreed, still cheerful as he explained, "And anyone would have, in my position. Here I was, trying to make of myself a healer, son of a famous healer, and what young elf does my father always praise? Not me...though to be fair, he frequently told me that he took pride in me, as well. But still, Adar was always, 'Theli this,' and 'Theli that,' and 'I've never seen any apprentice learn this stitch as fast as Theli did during the War of the Last Alliance, and under fire, too.'"

"Please," Elrohir begged, "I've heard this rant ad nuseam. Do take him up on his offer to adjust your sling, cousin Theli, and so spare me from it."

Theli laughed, and accepted, and as Elladan fixed his former comrade's sling, Legolas asked with interest, "What did Master Nestorion think of that, Theli?"

Theli chuckled again, "Well, Master Healer Nestorion thought that I should have known better, and so I ended up with a number of 'turns' at inventorying supplies and corresponding about trades of different medicinal herbs with Elladan, which probably punished Elladan at least as much as me."

"Undoubtedly." Elladan agreed with a grin, "Your handwriting is truly abominable."

Legolas, seated beside Aragorn, leaned forward, intrigued, "Is that why you always ended up inventorying weapons and military supplies, when our Captain was annoyed with you but couldn't quite prove that you'd done something wrong?"

"I suspect so," Theli agreed, smiling ruefully, "But you can ask Linwe when we join him and your Adar in Ithilien-en-Edhil, next week."

Legolas grinned, "I'm more likely to ask them if they know about how you patched Elladan up under fire in Mordor, the first time."

Gimli rolled his eyes, and took Legolas' goblet. "No more ale for you, if you're taking to blackmailing your friends, my lad."

"Aww," Legolas mock whined, "What's a little blackmail between friends?"

"A better question," Faramir joked in turn, "Is what Gimli has to hide that Legolas knows of, such that our dear Lord of Aglarond would bestir himself from his pipe."

Then Aragorn complained that Faramir always took Legolas' part, and the twins complained that Faramir only rarely did so, and was usually Aragorn's confederate.

Meanwhile, Theli's gaze had gone far away, thinking of a real blackmailer, long, long ago. Elladan snapped his fingers in front of Theli's eyes to recall him. Blinking, Theli forced himself back into the conversation, teasing Legolas in kind, "Ai, my prince, that is simply unfair. Particularly as I recall a certain elfling who once asked me for healing supplies, and lessons in how to use them."

Aragorn smiled, and Gimli chortled, "That would have been when you were secretly befriending humans when you were supposed to be camping with your brother?"

Legolas blushed, "Aye, it was. But Adar knows all about it, anyway."

"From Elrohir." Theli pointed out, "Not from me."

"To be fair," Melpomaen pointed out softly, "You and I were both unconscious at the time, Theli. And it was a good thing that Legolas had given his human friends such lessons."

"Aye," Theli agreed, with a fond look for his young Prince, "You were always one of the most apt of pupils, Las-nin."

"You were always a good teacher." Legolas replied, voice just as fond, and lips quirking into an irreverent grin as he corrected, "Provided that the subjects were healing or soldiery, at least. Beyond that, I had to learn to take what you said with a grain of salt."

"Something cousin Thranduil's children undoubtedly had a great deal of practice at." Elladan pointed out.

Legolas started to take offense, and then realized, "Oh, dear. Did Adar once help you with your history homework, too?"

Elrohir laughed, "Aye, he did. 'The Noldor left Aman because they were bored, and because they needed more elves to look down on. Also, they'd heard the forests in Beleriand were much nicer.'"

Legolas laughed, as Elrohir's impression of Legolas's father Thranduil was pretty good, in terms of word choice. Even if Elrohir's tone of voice was closer to Lord Elrond with a cold.

Elladan continued, doing an exceptionally good job of mimicking Thranduil in the process of simplifying something he thought the rest of the world made needlessly complicated, "'Be careful not to become too learned. Too much learning warps an elf's mind, and makes him do mad things like go off and make unspeakably lovely and horrific jewelry, just because his half-niece didn't like him. When frankly, I don't think she's ever liked anyone. Except maybe cousin Celeborn, and your naneth.'"

Mithiriel's mouth dropped in horror, "Cousin Thranduil didn't really say that, did he?"

"Oh, yes." Melpomaen assured his young student fondly, "My own Adar Erestor, who was my gwedyr's main tutor, was less than impressed." Melpomaen gave the twins a look of affectionate admonishment, "Adar rather felt that they should have been doing their own research, instead of just asking Aran Thranduil."

Relieved that the subject of the conversation had moved beyond befriending orcs, Aragorn was about to retire for the evening when his granddaughter Mithiriel shook her lovely red-gold curls, and asked, "So cousin Thranduil shares cousin Theli's distaste for history, but did he also make friends with yrch?"

"No," Theli answered, with a smile for Mithiriel, who had been helping him with his own reading, "Our Aran was bemusedly appalled by my explanation of that little adventure, if I recall."

"He said that he was glad you'd survived, mostly. At least that is what he always says when he tells the story of 'Ecthelion in the Orc Den,'" Legolas corrected, "And he's also said that you're to call him by name, as you are our kin, however distant."

"Old habits." Theli said, with a shrug, looking ready to elaborate on how he had once, for a moment, shared a moment with an orc where they mutually did not want to kill one another.

Hoping to forestall that story (his children didn't need more ideas, nor his grandchildren either) Aragorn interrupted kindly, "It will grow easier, in time, Theli. Faramir almost always remembers to refer to me as 'Adar,' now, or Aragorn if I've vexed him. I am only 'my King,' when council is in session, or when he thinks I'm behaving as an absolute idiot."

Blushing, Faramir began to protest, "Adar, I would never...." then, eyes narrowing, Faramir realized why it might be that his Adar had felt motivated to bring that up, now, as a distraction. In part because he, too, wanted to hear the story of Theli and the orc, and partly because he didn't like to be out-maneuvered even by his beloved father, Faramir smiled at Theli, and asked, "So, about your treaty with an orc?"

Lips quirking into a smile as Aragorn sighed, Theli recalled his first meeting with Faramir, and how he'd always known he was in trouble with his friend the King when Thranduil called him "Ecthelion." Something that was still true with his elder cousin the King. Thinking of that, and his attempts to be less of a trial- what he thought of as 'less-Elladan-like,' in polite company, Theli offered, "It is not too violent of a story, but if Aragorn would prefer I not..."

Sighing, and casting a fond if exasperated look in Faramir's and Mithiriel's general direction, Aragorn replied, "No, go ahead, Theli. At least Arwen and I are here to engage in damage control, if needed."

"And Gimli and I, and Elrohir and Elladan." Legolas pointed out, adding, "And Faramir."

"Hmm." Aragorn murmured, grinning, "I meant what I said, tithen gwador. Although I should perhaps add, 'And Gimli,' perhaps."

As Legolas made a face, and Gimli chuckled merrily, Theli began his tale.

Greenwood, some miles south of the King's Hall, in the Third Age but before the Watchful Peace, as a storm raged, and an elven patrol engaged in a skirmish with a band of particularly fierce orcs

Rain poured down in torrents upon the Greenwood, and fierce winds lashed any being who was foolish enough not to seek shelter. Tonight, that number included a patrol of elves, and a large group of orcs.

Lieutenant Ecthelion blinked away stream of water, as he fired arrow after arrow at the approaching orcs. Theli hated orcs with a passion. Had, ever since he first saw the ruins of a Nandorin village they'd left behind them, when he was still an elfling. The War of the Last Alliance had made him hate orcs more. Oh, Theli wasn't fond of Easterlings, or the men of Harad, or any of the Enemy's other humans. But humans, even those who served the Enemy, had cried for their mothers when they lay wounded and dying on the field. Had most often thanked the Allied healers who came to tend them, before sending them to Gondor as prisoners.

Not the orcs. They had tried to kill healers, just for offering a kindness. So Theli, and the other soldiers and healers, had learned to just kill the orcs, during the war. And in general, actually, just killing orcs was pretty much a way of life for the elven warriors of the besieged Greenwood.

And these orcs seemed to really want to die. Captain Linwe's unit had been heading back towards the Hall, as even as fierce and experienced a Captain as Linwe would not keep his elves afield in this type of storm. This band of orcs could have traveled in peace this night, had they not chosen not to cross the stream.

As the trees lashed back and forth in the wailing wind, Theli drew his sword and yelled in the harsh consonants of Mordor that all of the orcs had been bred of human stock, and were fit only to be snaga, or laborers. It was the one insult that, in Theli's experience, had never failed to infuriate orcs, and make them come after him.

It worked again, and several of the orcs broke rank to rush after him, thus decreasing the effectiveness of their massed attack. Theli grinned in fierce triumph, before he was too busy hoping that his fast tongue hadn't bought him a death by orc club.

Lieutenant Teliemir and his elves, who were further to the rear and still had the distance for bows, shot the orcs' chiefs, further disrupting their charge. Then his fellow soldiers' arrows were amongst Theli's opponents, and he had a moment to breathe. Looking over the confusing scene of orcs struggling with elves, Theli heard a whistle from Junior Officer Coruthelion, signaling the use of several traps in the vicinity, and passed the signal on. Then a few more orcs came through the arrow fire, and Theli was again longing for all of the days when he'd just had to fight orcs during a normal pitch-dark night, without driving rain and hail.

Still, during the occasional flashes of lighting, Theli could tell that the elves were winning the engagement. The orcs broke, and ran. After almost two thousand years, Theli was too seasoned a soldier to relax, but he was also a dedicated healer. He noticed that one of their youngest soldiers was down, and was turning to check on the youngling when a fleeing orc knocked into him.

Cursing himself for his moment of inattention, Theli stepped back. The ground behind him gave way, and he slid down, down into the rushing water of the Enchanted Stream. Which, given the rain, was more of a river today than a stream. As light as his armor was, it was enough to drag him down, and make swimming difficult. By the time that Theli finally pulled himself out of the water, he was so far downstream that he couldn't hear the call of his fellow soldiers. As the storm got worse, the hail becoming the size of his fist, Theli decided that he had no choice but to seek shelter, and try to make his own way back to the Hall, later.

By the time he found the cave, he'd been stumbling along in the intermittently lightning-lit darkness in growing pain for nearly an hour. Walking beside the stream, becoming increasingly concerned that the hail which had left bruises over most of his body would hit his head, and also aware of a long cut he'd taken to his back, somehow through his armor, Theli was in no mood to be picky about his shelter. He just collapsed, and didn't truly become aware of his surroundings again until a pale, miserable new day dawned, just as full of accursed rain and hail as the previous evening.

That was when he realized he'd been sharing his cave with an orc. A relatively small, young-looking orc, and a snaga rather than a soldier-caste orc, but an orc nonetheless.

Theli stared at the orc, hate and shock equal in his gaze.

The orc stared at Theli, whom she had last seen yelling insults and wielding his blade against the soldier-orcs who had kidnapped her and her fellows from their clan, and taken them as slaves. The orc didn't hate Theli more than any particular elf just for killing the soldier-orcs she'd been serving, but she hated all elves, as she should. And she wanted to kill Theli.

Theli very much wanted to kill the orc. But when he reached for his sword, he realized that 1) he had somehow lost of all his weapons save the knife in his boot-sheath; 2) he was quite possibly too sore to fight an orc successfully, even this pitiful looking orc; 3) he really just wanted to go back to sleep; and 4) the orc wasn't armed, either, and it had even stopped growling.

"Fine." Theli told the orc, "I won't kill you, and you won't kill me, at least not until the rain stops. Then we'll take it from there."

The orc snarled, and then growled again, and Theli wished, for the first time in his life, that his knowledge of the orcs' language extended beyond insults. But Theli was nothing if not persistent, so he tried, "Elf...not dead...orc, not dead." The orc seemed to accept that, as her eyes closed. Theli watched her for another few minutes that seemed like an hour to him, in his pained and weakened state. Then, reflecting that every elf who'd ever gone to the trouble of teaching him a soldier's trade would be bitterly disappointed in him, he went to sleep, too.

Theli awoke as the pale, paltry light of evening was dimming. Since it was still raining and hailing, the orc was still curled into a miserable ball as far away from Theli as she could be and still stay dry, and he was feeling somewhat better, Theli hastened to build a fire from damp drift wood and fire-starting materials that he carried in his belt pouch. Taking out a collapsible metal cup, Theli crawled stiffly to the stream, filling the cup and soaking himself, and also learning that he'd done something very painful to his left ankle, the previous night.

Boiling the water in his cup, Theli painstakingly washed his hands and his wounds, even though he had to take several more trips back to the stream to gather soap-root and refill the cup. The orc awoke at some point during this lengthy process. It didn't move, beyond to sit up, and watch Theli, like maybe he'd hit his head.

Theli had to laugh. "I'm not crazy." He told the orc, "I'm a healer. I'd translate that into orc, but then you might try to eat me like the last orc I told I was a healer, so I'm not going to bother."

The rain continued, and Theli and the orc watched eachother uneasily for several hours. Then Theli fell asleep again, a bit worried that he hadn't been able to properly reach the long cut on his back, to treat it. Remembering the last time he'd taken a similar injury, when he'd been an accidental runaway during the War of the Last Alliance, Theli dreamed he was back in Mordor with the army, and that an orc was eating him. It's hot teeth burned, and Theli awoke, gasping and reaching for his knife.

The orc hissed, and Theli realized that it must have fetched more wood, and built up the fire. He also realized that he was running a fever, which might explain why he felt bad for frightening the orc after it had assured that he would not go cold during the night.

"Here," he said, in his softest, elfling-soothing, talking-his-King-into-taking-medicine voice, "Come over, and I'll wash that cut on your arm."

The orc eyed him warily, but maybe it was bored, too, because after an hour or so of Theli alternatively coaxing it in Sindarin, and promising not to 'dead' it in orc-language, the orc warily approached him.

Theli washed his hands again, and then cleaned a cut on his own leg, making an ouch noise, but showing her how much better it looked than the cut on her arm.

The orc considered that, and then when Theli reached out to clean the wound on her arm, she permitted it. She hissed and then snarled and growled at the sting of the soaproot. Theli was afraid that she was going to attack him with her sharp teeth and claws. But she didn't, she just retreated to her own corner of the cave as soon as Theli had washed out the makeshift antiseptic.

He fell back asleep after that, only to wake to a third dawn of hail and rain. Cursing inventively, Theli tried to find a less uncomfortable position, while still keeping an eye on the cave entrance and the orc. Granted, she was asleep again and seemed disinclined to bother him, but still. With a sigh, Theli gave up. His back hurt too much to lean against the cave wall, and there was no way to lean a shoulder against the stone and still keep an eye on orc and exit.

After a few hours of discomfort punctuated by the increasing close rush of the stream, the orc awoke, and began rustling around. After awhile, she cautiously approached Theli, showing him first the healing cut on her arm, and then a deeper, suppurating cut on her thigh, that Theli had not seen before.

"Oh," He commented, some sympathy in his voice, because he was after all a healer, "Yes, I can help you with that. It's going to hurt worse, though."

She hissed, but this time it sounded like assent, not a threat.

"Ok," Theli said, taking out his cup, "I need you to go get wood for the fire. We have to boil the water, because otherwise it could just make things worse." The orc looked at the hail, which if anything now resembled cannon balls rather than an elf's fist, at least in terms of size.

"Yeah," Theli observed with sympathy, "But there's some wood caught in the rising water." He pointed to it, explaining, "I can make it burn, at least long enough to boil water, but if we don't boil the water, we might as well not bother."

The orc looked at the fallen branches, and then back at Theli, and hissed again, before saying something in the gutteral language of the orcs.

Theli caught the word for 'dead,' but not much else. 'Dead' was a popular word, in spoken orc, he reflected. Summoning his ingenuity, and reflecting that he was definitely delirious if he was trying to explain proper healing protocol to an orc, Theli began in orc-language, 'No fire...water in hurt make dead. Make dead, like...elf-made orc make human-made orc dead."

This orc, which probably was a snaga, or a laborer-class orc that the other orcs thought had been bred from humans, growled at that.

Theli shrugged. If the orc didn't kill him, the fever might. "No fire, water make dead." He insisted.

The orc hissed, but again, it sounded like assent. Soon enough, the orc had brought wood, and Theli had boiled water to wash her wound.

Carefully taking out the thread and needle that he carried in his belt pouch, Theli began stitching the now-cleaned wound, which had started bleeding profusely. Theli explained as he did so, "this will keep the blood in, and hopefully the infection out. Uh," switching to orc, Theli tried, "Hurt...make not dead."

The orc corrected, "Not die...if elf make pain with small knife."

Bemused, Theli repeated that. Then, mostly for his own amusement, he taught the orc to say, "The Enemy licks his own balls."

When night fell again, Theli and the orc both stayed nearer to the fire, which the orc kept going out to get wood to feed. The orc also caught a few fish, and shared one with Theli.

When the next day dawned, Theli thoguht that the hail had finally stopped, but it wasn't as much of an improvement as Theli had hoped for. He now felt quite hot, and was seeing two orcs, and also a bright, pink, bird, singing nursery rhymes to him in the Nandorin dialect of his childhood. Two orcs was not impossible, but he'd likely already be dead or at least tied up in more pain, and besides, no bird Theli had ever seen looked like that, or sang nursery rhymes (let alone in Nandorin), so he knew for certain that he was hallucinating.

At one point, as the hallucinatory pink bird flapped around the cave, the orc growled at him. Then she unraveled part of Theli's tunic, miming sewing. At that point, Theli decided that the orc was right, it would be stupid to die just because he couldn't reach the wound on his back. So he told the orc to boil water, put the thread and the needle into the water, made the orc wash it's - or rather, her, he'd decided - hands. Theli threaded the needle for the orc, and explained again how he'd stitched the wound on her leg. Then Theli took off his tunic and undershirt, fought every instinct he had as an elf and a soldier, and turned his back on the orc.

The entire time the orc was washing and then stitching his wound shut, Theli had to fight against the prejudice, against the weak feeling of something terribly wrong. The orc was the most ham-handed 'healer' Theli had ever had plunge a needle and thread into him, and that included one of Prince Imrazor's pirates who'd accidentally cut Theli when a disagreement over a game of dice went wrong. Worse was the sense of...something unnatural, that clung to the orc like a perfume. But still, she managed to wash the wound, and close it. And when Theli woke again, the hail had restarted, but he felt better enough to sit up, and eat some fish. He even felt curious, as well as grateful.

So Theli asked the orc, still seated nearby, just on the other side of the fire, "What is your name? I'm Theli." As he spoke, he patted his chest, identifying himself. They'd done the same earlier, as they exchanged orcish and Sindarin words for fish, cup, and fire.

The orc snarled.

Theli paused. It wasn't the "I'm about to bite you or knife you" snarl, of a few days ago. It still didn't sound friendly, more assertive. But it wasn't actively hostile.

He thought for a moment...maybe that sound was her name? So he made the snarling noise back at her, and she winced, but nodded.

Theli explained, "That's called a snarl. He snarled the word, and the orc seemed amused rather than pained. So Theli decided to call her Snarl.

Theli fell back asleep to the sound of the hail falling in the increasingly swollen stream. He hoped that the hail growing smaller in size meant that the storm was finally blowing itself out. He and the orc had spent several minutes discussing how to tell when it would be too dangerous to stay in the cave due to the rising water, which had led to the interesting revelation that the orc seemed to fear running water. Theli found that odd, as she didn't mind fishing from the stream. But apparently, orcs, like elves, will do things that they fear in order to stay alive.

He woke up to a strange sound. After a few moments, Theli realized with a shock that the orc was crying, as she held her necklace of black beads in one hand, and rocked gently back and forth. Theli's eyes widened, and he thought that this must be the strangest moment in the entire strange adventure. He was utterly overwhelmed. Theli didn't know what to do when ellith cried, let alone female orcs.

After a few more minutes, Theli realized that the orc's necklace wasn't made out of black beads...it was made out of black seed pods. Like those he'd seen, long ago with the army, marching through Mordor. And nowhere else. Based on that, and his surety at this point that Snarl was a snaga, Theli figured out that Snarl hadn't been with the orcs his patrol had killed of her own free choice, that she'd been brought there as a slave.

Crawling towards her, Theli took a branch, and began to draw a map in the dirt floor of the cave. He then explained to Snarl, carefully and repetitively, drawing and re-drawing maps on the ground, how she could get home. That time, Theli fell asleep next to Snarl.

During the night, the hail stopped, and Theli moved back to his own side of the fire. He considered leaving, as he didn't know what would happen to their treaty now that the hail had stopped. But it was still raining heavily, and after the hail the past few days, it was possible that the spiders and wargs that infested the woods would be hunting. Better, and safer, to wait until morning to leave.

Snarl had also been awakened by the cessation of noise. "Snarl not kill elf before light come." She said, and Theli believed her. He was soldier enough to know to rest when he could.

The first light of morning came, and with it, the welcome sound of horns, including his Captain's and the King's. Theli sighed with relief, and pulled himself to his feet, leaving the cave for the still soaking rain with a smile. But then a thought occurred to him, specifically what the King's patrols were accustomed to doing to any orcs they found.

Theli turned to his erstwhile companion of the past few days, "Theli clan come." He warned her, "Snarl go back to Snarl's clan-place."

Snarl nodded, and fled the cave more quickly then Theli would have believed possible, headed in the direction of Mordor.

Just as Snarl was almost out of range, Second Lieutenant Thalion Aerandirion, the King's foster-son, appeared from the trees. His dark eyes flashed in relief upon seeing Theli, but just as quickly he raised his bow, aiming at the retreating Snarl.

"Stop, 'Lion!" Theli ordered.

Thalion obeyed, but turned to regard Theli with confused astonishment, "Theli. It's an orc." He pointed out, as a full patrol and a half of elves appeared, all seeming relieved to find their missing fellow.

Theli, amidst happy greetings, explained to Thalion (who had to explain letting the orc get away), "She's a young snaga, not a soldier-caste orc. She wasn't trying to kill us, she was trying to get out of the way."

General disbelief followed that statement, but Theli wasn't really worried about that. Master Healer Nestorion had come with the patrol, and was currently occupied with checking over Theli with, in Theli's opinion, overly-obsessive and attentive care to detail.

Despite Theli's protests that he as well enough and they should proceed back to the Hall, or at least about their other business, Master Nestorion insisted on taking a better look at the wound on Theli's back that he'd discovered in his gentle but thorough initial exam.

Aran Thranduil snorted in amusement, appearing to Theli's eyes to be glad that Nestorion was bossing around a patient other than the Aran himself, and told his soldiers to strike a temporary camp and build a fire so that Nestorion could examine Theli. Thranduil added with a half-smile that Theli would be the healers' patient despite being a healer himself until Nestorion was satisfied as to his good health.

As Thranduil turned to reassure his fosterling that Thalion was not a poor soldier for having let the fleeing orc go on the word of a senior officer who was possibly delirious, the Aran's guard and cousin Lord Fileg informed Theli, "You're probably better off with Nestorion, you know. Linwe wants a word with you, something about you starting to play healer before the enemies were gone."

 

Theli sighed, but submitted to Nestorion's ministrations with better grace. Captain Linwe was a stern and demanding commander, but he cared for all of the elves under his command. He wouldn't be too harsh with an elf who was still healing. And besides, Theli could admit to himself that Linwe was right. Oh, the orc might have knocked him into the rushing stream anyway. But Theli had made a mistake, but starting to think like a healer when he should have still been thinking like a soldier. It was an occupational hazard of being Theli, but it was not one that Linwe had a great deal of patience for.

Nestorion's hands were infinitely careful, and his voice quietly regretful as he said, "Theli, the stitches in your back have done their job, barely, but I'm going to have take them out, clean the wound again, and re-stitch it. There's still some infection."

Theli winced, not looking forward to that much pain, but he said, "All right. Really, that was probably inevitable. The orc wouldn't have even washed her hands before dealing with that cut, if I hadn't made her."

"The...orc, tended to your wound? Stitched it shut?" Thranduil asked incredulously, distracted from his conversation with his son.

"She was a young orc." Theli said defensively. "She didn't like me at all, at first, either. If she'd been strong enough the first night, she would have killed me."

"She?" Asked Captain Linwe, with mixed amusement and asperity.

"Snarl was a girl orc. There was just something that was somewhat delicate and feminine, about the way she curved her claws when she ate her fish." Theli explained, trying and failing to demonstrate with his own hand, until Nestorion smacked Theli's bottom gently for moving whilst Nestorion was trying to treat Theli.

Thranduil shook his head, "Only you, Theli."

Theli and the other elves went back to the Hall, and not much changed, at first. Theli still killed orcs, though perhaps he did not go out of his way, or disobey orders as much, to kill more orcs when they were already fleeing, and had not done anything particularly heinous during their last incursion into the Greenwood.

Snarl still killed elves. But she made it back to her home, and became famed amongst her clan for having done so. And she tended to injured orcs whom she didn't actively hate. And many of them survived. She also became more fierce, because orcs must as they grow, or they will be killed by their own kind. Her adult name was Strangler. But she was most famous, as a healer. So famous that her clan listened to her, as they received many fine things and privileges from more powerful orcs, those closer to their Master Sauron, for Strangler's having healed the powerful. For Sauron did not often trouble to heal orcs, but Strangler would, if they paid her, or she saw some benefit in it.

And Strangler did not go out of her way to hurt or torture elves. She would if the Master ordered her clan to, or if she was serving a more powerful orc who asked it of her. But her early experience with the strange elf in the cave had left her a lingering...confusion, in her hatred of elves.

And, some time later, it would matter a great deal that Strangler still had this confusion about elves. But that is another story.

Epilogue, the Long Gallery in the King's House of Minas Tirith

"Will you tell it now?" Mithiriel asked, her gray-green eyes still dancing with interest. "The other story, I mean?"

"Ah, it has gotten late..." Theli apologized, with a yawn, to Aragorn's relief.

"Not that late," the King's daughter Gilwen disagreed, whilst stifling a yawn.

Suppressing a smile, Queen Arwen offered, "Perhaps I could tell you and your sister a story, iel-nin, once we get you dressed for bed?"

Gilwen considered that offer, her little chin tilted and framed by dark, wavy curls. At length, she countered, "TWO stories, Nana."

"Please." Mithiriel prompted quietly, and Gilwen dutifully added, "Please."

Gray-eyed, blond Haleth inquired brightly, "Can I come, Daernana?"

Arwen looked quickly to Faramir, and after his negligible nod of permission and quick, bright smile, she told Haleth fondly, "Of course, daeriel-nin. With your parents' permission, you are always welcome." It was not unusual for Haleth, who was eight years old, to join six year old Gilwen for bed time, and spend the night with Gilwen in the youngest Princess's own room. Faramir's middle daughter Mithiriel and the King's older daughter Melyanna were similarly close.

As Haleth left the room in the wake of the Queen and Gilwen, she whispered to Theli, "The story about Snarl? It's Grace's story, isn't it?"

Startled and then amused, Theli smiled tiredly. "You'll have to wait and find out, Haley."

"Theli needs his rest tonight," Mithiriel pointed out, in a rare show (for her) of valuing health over the accumulation of knowledge. Faramir put a gentle hand on his daughter's shoulder, squeezing gently in praise as his daughter looked up at him fondly.

When the room had cleared of children (and Faramir, who had left with Mithiriel), Elladan offered Theli, "I'll help you get to bed, without jostling that arm."

"Oh, I can do that." Legolas countered cheerfully, "Theli is staying in my suite, after all. 'Twill be easier."

Theli gave Legolas a grateful nod, from which Aragorn deduced with a carefully hidden smile that healer-Elladan could be a bit of a fusspot, even when the injured individual he was assisting was a fellow healer centuries older than Elladan, rather than Elladan's own beloved baby foster-brother.

"I don't know about that," Elladan objected, "Theli should take more pain-killers, and I don't know as you know what to give him, or how to settle the pillows so that they don't aggravate his arm or collar bone."

Legolas rolled his eyes, and retorted, "Really, Elladan, after all the centuries when Theli or one of the other royal healers would help me get settled after I'd been hurt, do you really think that I didn't learn a few things?"

Elladan frowned thoughtfully, meeting Legolas's forest-green eyes. The white-blond elven Prince stood firm; Aragorn could tell that Legolas was confident that he could care for his retainer and kinsman, without a healer's aid.

"All-right, Smarty elf," Elladan said at last, with a resigned huff belied by the challenging gleam in his eyes, "Which of the powders by Theli's bedside should be mixed with water for his painkiller?"

"The sweet-smelling one," Legolas answered immediately, with a self-confident grin, "It's lavender-colored. He should get about a teaspoon's worth."

Elrohir nudged his twin and winked at Legolas, "I keep telling you that Legolas is more than just a pretty face."

Elladan rolled his eyes, "I know that. What I don't know, is whether little cousin Las knows which vial is the muscle-relaxant, and which the sedative, that Theli could be given if he is wakeful during the night.

Theli shook his head, "Elladan, I know those things. Legolas need not know them, as there would be no need for me to wake Legolas."

"For Araw's sake, Ecthelion," Legolas scolded his older cousin with a stern expression, for a moment sounding (and looking) rather like his father Thranduil, "You're in pain and you're not supposed to be getting yourself out of bed yet. That's why I gave you that bell. Summon me if you can't sleep, or I'll let Elladan and Eowyn take you back to the House of Healing."

"Oh, is that why?" Theli teased his Prince, once he'd recovered from his surprise at the scold, "And here I'd been thinking the bell was a cat toy for Mithril."

"You'll ring for me, that's an order." Legolas informed Theli, though his lips quirked at the thought of Theli's new kitten Mithril, who had energetically chased the bell across the room a few times, to the amusement of the elves and the laughter of Mithiriel and Melyanna, who had been visiting at the time.

Turning to Elladan, Legolas informed him with a sniff, "And the muscle relaxant is the brown powder, the one that sticks together. A typical mild dose is a half spoonful, mixed in milk. The sedative is light green in color, and very fine, and a pinch of it can be mixed with the milk and the muscle-relaxant."

"Peace, Legolas." Elladan offered with a slight smile, "You seem more than capable. I leave Theli in your hands with no small relief."

Theli looked like he wanted to snipe back at Elladan, but was too tired. Elladan shrugged, in apology, as Legolas knelt to offer Theli a shoulder, in rising. As the two got to their feet, Gimli chuckled and teased Legolas, "Why am I not surprised that you required a healer's attention often enough to learn such things, oh flighty one?"

Legolas snorted, "If you'd been alive as long as I, oh my hirsute friend, you would have no doubt spent just as much time injured as I, if not even more. Don't try to argue with me. I know you; you can't stay out of things."

Gimli bristled, but Aragorn laughed lightly, and interjected before the dwarf could speak, "Legolas does have you there, Gimli my friend. As the only dwarf who fought in three human wars, you cannot say that you do not, 'get into things.'"

Gimli blustered a reply, not conceding the point, and Aragorn and Elrohir rose to the debate. Only Elrohir and Elladan heard Theli quietly tell Legolas, as the two left the room, "I do hope that I will not need your services as a healer anywhere near as often as you have needed mine, tithen-Las."

Legolas's silvery laugh drifted back to the room, and all smiled to hear it.


	5. This isn't where I left my horse, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a camping trip in Ithilien, Legolas tells a story that he heard from his fire, about the antics of one of Aragorn's older foster-brothers and a Greenwood soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A slightly revised version of this chapter and the following two may eventually be incorporated as later chapters of Beginnings & Endings, but since they are mostly about Greenwood elves, they belong here, too.
> 
> Set in the mid-summer of 3019, during a quick camping trip to Ithilien before the hobbits leave Gondor to return to the Shire.

Prologue: Ithilien-en-Edhil-, during the mid-summer of 3019

 

Aragorn leaned back against Elrohir's broad chest as he puffed on his pipe, more relaxed than he'd been in weeks. The sun setting over the hills of Emyn Arnen, and the gentle, soothing sound of the nearby stream, took him back to his relatively care-free days as a young officer in Steward Ecthelion's army. In those long-ago days he'd camped not far from here with friends, including Denethor, Finduilas, Magordan, Lennart, and Lennart's future wife Sion. They'd lost Lennart during the battles against the corsairs, but Sion had borne him a child. Aragorn made a mental note to ask Ethiron how Lennart's boy fared, when they got back to Minas Tirith. The King hoped that his old friend's son had survived the war; so many of Gondor's men had not. He sighed sadly.

Elrohir poked him, and Gimli blew a puff of smoke into his face.

Putting his pipe aside and coughing, Aragorn protested, "Hey!"

"Follow the advice you gave to young Faramir, muindor-laes." Elrohir told the King of Men sternly, "No thinking of sad things. This trip is to fare-well our hobbit heroes in true rural splendor, which does not include weighty sighs from their fearless leader."

"Particularly not while smoking a pipe, and watching a beautiful sunset." Gandalf agreed, a merry twinkle warring with sympathy for Aragorn in his eyes.

Shaking his head, Aragorn conceded, "You have the right of it, but next time perhaps you could just say so..."

"You respond better to non-verbal direction, little brother. You always have." Elrohir disagreed, with a wicked grin.

Gimli chuckled, and offered, "Mayhaps 'twas an accident, Aragorn. As young Faramir said, the wind in these parts can be tricky."

Aragorn smiled disbelievingly, and blew a puff of smoke in Gimli's general direction, before saying, "Gimli, my friend, you managed to sit across the fire from Legolas for the first several months of the quest, and yet manage to consistently have your pipe smoke waft only into his face and have even him believe that it was more-likely-than-not accidental. I'm afraid that there could be a hurricane, and I would still think that you had done that on purpose."

Gimli gave a long, loud belly laugh, which made even Gandalf smile. After his fit of merriment had passed, Gimli wiped tears of laughter from his eyes with the hand that wasn't holding his treasured pipe, and remarked, "Ach, laddie, this trip was a good idea. 'Tis glad I am that you gave your poor Steward parole, such that he could bring us all here." Gimli was referring to the duties assisting with the rebuilding of the city during the mornings that Aragorn had assigned as punishment to Faramir and the dozen-or-so friends who had aided him in retrieving old scrolls from an archives storehouse that Gimli and the human stone-masons had deemed to badly damaged to enter.

Aragorn rolled his eyes, "Parole, indeed. The only thing that you and the stone-masons can seem to agree on is that my Steward needs fattening up, and so the breakfast offered at your work-site rivals the seventh-day spread put on by the chefs at the citadel."

Gimli didn't deny that assertion, but he did point out, "Well, Faramir and Merry and the other lads are hard workers, so they need to eat well, to keep their strength up. Rebuilding Minas Tirith is more difficult than mining, in many ways."

Aragorn was glad that Faramir, Meriadoc, and the other ten miscreants weren't finding their punishment too onerous, but he still felt the need to tease, "It seems like you have absorbed a hobbit's attitude towards food during our journeys, Gimli. The next thing I know, you'll be asking if we can stop on the way back to Minas Tirith tomorrow, to take a proper second breakfast."

"Any excuse to spend less time on that accursed beast's back, since that slave-driver of a father-by-law of yours said we can't take an extra day to travel by foot, like sensible beings." Gimli retorted, before sobering, "In all truth, Aragorn, the elf and I have been thinking about leaving soon for a few weeks, to return to Fangorn Forest at Treebeard's invitation."

Aragorn nodded, watching the first stars of the evening appear. "Aye, I thought that you might. 'Tis a fine plan, though I'll miss you and Legolas while you're away. I'm glad that you've both stayed as long as you have, your aid has been invaluable, to the city and to me."

With a fond glower, Gimli ducked that praise by offering, "Well, the elf and I discussed it, and it seemed prudent to both of us to wait until yon paranoid guard of yours had accepted that a royal coup was not imminent, 'ere we left."

It was Aragorn's turn to laugh unrestrainedly, while Magordan raised his hands in surrender, and conceded, "Yes, yes, you were all right and I was wrong. Prince Faramir does not want to be the King of Gondor, despite what some of Aragorn's more reluctant and crotchety vassals may be saying, or plotting."

"Ah," murmured Elrohir, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Finally, the last horse crosses the finish line..."

Aragorn hid a smile as Magordan favored Elrohir with a glare. The King reflected that his eldest twin brother was in fine form tonight, which Aragorn always appreciated more when someone else was the focus of Elrohir's humor.

Gandalf snorted, and addressed Magordan, "Captain, I have a great deal of respect for your intuition, but less so for your paranoid suspicions. I know Faramir well, he is my student, and I did tell you that..."

"Aye, aye," Magordan agreed, hoping to avoid one of the Wizard's long lectures on the myriad virtues of Denethor's younger son, "I know, you said that Faramir would die for Aragorn, and Ethiron said so, as well. But I did not know Faramir when we first returned to Gondor, and Aragorn's safety is my look-out."

"Your self-appointed look-out." Aragorn corrected softly. For his own part, the King had never doubted the loyalty of Boromir's brother, nor his general competence or talent. Though, since Faramir had interpreted Aragorn's decision that it was too dangerous to retrieve the scrolls that Gandalf wanted to save, and Frodo wanted to read, as 'By all means go ahead, just don't bother me with it,' Aragorn had been rather worried about Faramir's judgment, vis-a-vis his own well-being. Some of Imrahil's stories, and the Ithilien rangers' tales, had added fuel to that fire. The real reason that Aragorn had been so angry with Faramir over the whole incident with the scrolls was that he'd been worried about Faramir, and the idiots who had volunteered to help him. Gimli had very bluntly told them all that the only reason the weakened walls of the archives' storage chamber hadn't collapsed on them was luck, since the structure was so managed it could give way at any time.

Elrohir gently corrected Aragorn, "Muindor, Magordan's appointment as the Captain of your Guard was approved by your council, remember. He was self-nominated, though."

Aragorn gave Magordan an apologetic look and a soft, appreciative smile, "There is no one else that I would rather have looking out for me, old friend." Aragorn left unspoken that he'd prefer not to have guards at all. He'd been rather vociferous in that argument, and he'd lost, which wasn't Magordan's fault, or anyone's, really.

Magordan waved off his King's apology, "I know how you feel, my lad. I don't fault you for it." With an exasperated smile, Magordan added, "Nor does Faramir, who cleverly arranged a vote to have the Steward's personal guard disbanded and absorbed into the Citadel guard not long after the Royal Guard was created."

"Ah," Elrohir observed with amusement, "but Faramir wisely waited until after Aragorn's guard was created AND after his uncle Imrahil had left to return to Dol Amroth." Elrohir's tone revealed nothing but admiration for such a sneaky tactic.

"Aye," Magordan agreed, "He reminds me of a certain former Captain of mine, a young fellow who just recently maneuvered a debate about how to properly ensure the safety of the new King of Men such that said King could venture forth wherever he pleased with naught but the company of a dwarf and an elf."

Aragorn smiled with quiet pride as Elrohir praised, "That was quite crafty of you, muindor-laes. It is no wonder that you captured Arwen's affections."

Which made Aragorn's gaze go distant, as his thoughts turned to his beautiful bride. Arwen had actually encouraged him to take a few days and wander the wilds of Ithilien, and Aragorn marveled at how lucky he was to have such an understanding bride.

Elrohir rolled his eyes at his younger foster-brother's dreamy, distant expression, and he then engaged Gimli in a discussion of his and Legolas' travel plans.

Aragorn had known that the two of them would likely be leaving for this trip in the near future. Legolas had told Aragorn that if they waited much longer, he doubted his ability to find Treebeard the ent again. And though Legolas had hidden it well, Aragorn knew him well enough to realize that Legolas was as excited as a small child on Yule by the thought of visiting with the legendary tree herd again. In fact, he'd spoken to Arwen of it, the night before they left on this camping trip.

"I would not deprive Legolas of the chance to fulfill a dream, even though I will miss him while he is gone. Soon enough, he will have to return to his family and duties in Greenwood." Aragorn had told Arwen, before sighing in pleasure. His wife was giving him a massage, which he desperately needed after the long, detailed ordeal of arranging for an absence of just two days.

Arwen paused her ministrations, and Aragorn looked up to see a surprisingly pensive expression on her lovely face. "There is more to it than you may realize." His wife said at last.

Aragorn sighed. It seemed that there was never an end to 'things-the-poor-human-doesn't-know," but he patiently prompted, "Meleth?"

Gray eyes filled with worry, Arwen explained, "Daernana Galadriel warned Legolas, about the sea-longing. Or so he confessed to Elrohir. And fulfilling dreams - staying engaged in tasks that interest him, it helps to combat the sea's call, weaken it, at least for a time."

Aragorn frowned, concerned. "Is Legolas...all right? I know he's been off, sometimes, since the war ended. We all have, from time to time, and I've noticed it no more in him than in others, and somewhat less than some." Aragorn spoke plainly, as was his wont, but he had a healer's confidence in his diagnosis of his dear friend.

Arwen resumed the massage, explaining in a reassuring tone, "It is nothing to worry of, too much, yet. At the worst, cousin Thranduil can order Legolas to sail, and the healers in the West can aid him. But Legolas wishes to bide, as do most of his people, and my brothers. In the short-term, there may even be a silver-lining of sorts to the situation, although I do not think that Legolas has realized it yet."

Relieved, and enjoying his wife's tender, well-trained touch, Aragorn inquired, "Oh?"

Aragorn could hear the exasperated smile in his wife's voice, as she elaborated, "And neither have you or Ada, from the state of your correspondence with cousin Thranduil."

Aragorn groaned at that reference, and then sighed in pleasure as Arwen found a knot in his shoulder, and deftly rubbed out the tension. "If parchment could catch flame," Aragorn murmured, rolling his eyes in frustration. "You'd think that Ada and Lady Galadriel had tied Legolas up and tossed him to a troll, from how angry King Thranduil is over them "letting" Legolas come on the Quest."

Arwen chuckled lightly, though her tone was sorrowful at the breach between her father and their cousin the King of Greenwood. "That's not my point, beloved. My point is that, once Thranduil actually sees Legolas again, he will see the sea-longing. He is a father who knows his children, like the forest knows the bark of its trees. And since Legolas has always been in such good cheer when he spends time with you and Elrohir, Thranduil will likely be more than amenable to Legolas making frequent and long visits to us here in Gondor."

Aragorn frowned again. The crushing burdens of his new responsibilities were easier to bear with friends like Legolas around, but he didn't want to have his friend visit because Legolas was ailing, and distraction the only cure. And besides, "Arwen, Legolas is his father's heir. He cannot make long visits to Gondor on any kind of a regular basis; he has important duties in the Greenwood. And as Erestor and Faramir have both been oh-so-diligent and repetitive in reminding me, a King's work in peace-time is not much less than his work in war-time, just different. And to be preferred, of course." Aragorn added onto the end, in case it was unclear. Even on the days when he day-dreamed about an orc attack during council meetings or while doing paperwork, the King of Men was glad that his friends and his people were not at risk of losing their lives in battle.

Arwen smacked her husband's bottom lightly, "You're not thinking, beloved. Cousin Thranduil is not reuniting two realms which have been separated from an age after one of them was the battlefield in an epic war, nor is he new to Kingship. He's led his people to reclaim their wood from the darkness before, when the Enemy wasn't destroyed, only banished. And when he didn't have Daerada Celeborn and Uncle Haldir helping him, to the south. Thranduil has been a King since before my parents were married; he can spare Legolas here," Arwen's voice faltered, "at least for our lifetimes."

"Ai, meleth," Aragorn comforted, rolling over and pulling his lady into his arms to comfort her, despite Arwen's squeaked protest that it wasn't necessary. Mortality was a new and sometimes terrifying thing for his beloved, and Aragorn meant to be there for her as she dealt with it, for all of their lives. Fortunately, kissing Arwen was a good way to distract her. So was asking her for her opinion, so Aragorn did both.

"Perhaps you would like to join in our correspondence with Legolas' Adar, since Ada and I aren't doing it right..." Aragorn said appealingly.

 

Arwen huffed a laugh, and Aragorn congratulated himself on a successful distraction.

 

"Come on," he urged his wife, "Ada and the twins agree that Thranduil has a soft spot for you...."

Arwen laughed lightly, "He does, yes. I'm the baby of my generation of our family, and he was the baby of his, so we have that in common. He and cousin Minaethiel used to always take the time to make sure that I felt included, during our visits to Greenwood when the older elflings were too busy for me. But I'm not getting involved in your long-distance shouting match with cousin Thranduil, husband. It's a waste of effort to argue with Thranduil when his temper is high and his mind is made up. It's a very male form of stupidity and I'm not going to add fuel to the fire. Just wait..."

Aragorn interrupted his wife to point out with a grin, "Your grandmother is getting involved in it."

Arwen snorted, "I respect Daernaneth Galadriel greatly, but she is more susceptible to bouts of particularly male stupidity than the average elleth. Undoubtedly from spending so much time having to argue with ellyn, over the years."

Smiling charmingly, Aragorn asked, "Am I prone to particularly male bouts of stupidity?"

Arwen smiled, and leaned forward to kiss him. "Not as compared to most men," she said, when they had regained their breath, "But then you ask me for my opinions, and listen to them, so that puts you ahead of most males that I know. Perhaps that's why I married you."

Grinning, Aragorn teased, "And here I thought it was the mere dream of the opportunity to be Queen, have no privacy, and have to listen politely as certain of my subjects who are insufferable bores drone on for hours..."

Arwen leaned forward again, her gray eyes aroused rather than amused, "I don't want to talk about the Lords of Gondor anymore tonight." She told her husband.

And they didn't. The memory of that night made Aragorn smile, as a heron flew over their head in the direction of the stream.

"It was a good idea to come here." Aragorn murmured, thinking of the happy day and a half he and his companions from the Quest had spent in southern Ithilien, Faramir's future home of Emyn Arnen. During this visit, Ithilien had more than lived up to its flattering names of old, the "Garden of Gondor," and the "Land of Many Fountains." Aragorn had more than half-forgotten those names, until he heard Faramir lovingly describe his new Princedom to Frodo, Sam, and Merry during their journey from Minas Tirith to the campsite carefully selected by the White Company. Riding beside the tributary of the Anduin, hearing the musical rush of the water and the call of birds and rustling of new leaves, Aragorn had felt renewed, contented. The hobbits seemed pleased, even Frodo who would never completely heal from his sacrifices during the war. And Legolas had practically been dancing on air, amazed at the apparent loquaciousness of the groves of ash, bay, cedar, cypress, fir, juniper, myrtle, oak, and olive trees that they passed. Aragorn had not known that cedar trees told the best jokes, or that fir trees tended to look down on deciduous trees. Or, for that matter, that olive trees collected sea shells, and myrtles liked to tell stories. But if Legolas said so in such a pleased and excited tone of voice, Aragorn didn't doubt that such things were so. Oh, Legolas was not above pulling Aragorn's leg, all in good fun. But Pippin, with his near-inexhaustible energy, had been Legolas' companion for most of that day, and Legolas was above telling tall-tales to Pippin. At least usually.

Aragorn puffed on his pipe with a smile, thinking fondly back on the past two days. Upon reaching their campsite, they had found carefully packed boxes of fruits, vegetables, and eggs, waiting for them. A similar phenomenon had happened to Aragorn's army on the way to the Black Gate, quiet but unsubtle proof that Ithilien was not the entirely abandoned and wild land it seemed.

"I see that your 'wild chickens' packed their eggs in between sweet red peppers, and have given us fresh-picked berries and tomatoes besides. How very ingenious of them." Aragorn had complimented Faramir, his gray eyes dancing with amusement.

"The chickens of Ithilien are quite skilled." Faramir agreed, his own gray eyes twinkling with amusement.

"And covert." Junior Captain Anborn of the White Company offered, with a grin for their new ruler's fine sense of humor.

Legolas laughed merrily, "Shall we go a-hunting then? I've seen wild grouse, but no chickens."

"I've got a good recipe for grouse, Prince Legolas." Samwise Gamgee offered hopefully.

Pippin grinned, and told Legolas hopefully, "It's a really good recipe."

So a hunting party was organized, and they were successful despite the mysterious disappearance of Legolas' favorite bow, which fortunately re-appeared in Magordan's pack some hours later, to Magordan's apologetic bemusement. Along with the vegetables and thyme that the secretive villagers of Ithilien had gifted them, Samwise was able to prepare a superb lunch. In the glen of their campsite, soft grass grew, along with ground cover of heather, ferns, and moss. To Aragorn's eyes, all of Ithilien was green and verdant.

Their campsite was near a particularly lovely stretch of stream, full of small waterfalls. Over the centuries, the flowing water had carved deep, calm pools for swimming and diving. After lunch, Faramir and Anborn took them all on a short walk to a waterfall, with a path for climbing up to the top that the hobbits, even Frodo, could easily climb, and then dive off the top of the waterfall into the deep, clear water below. The temperature in the afternoon was perfect for swimming, and many congenial water fights ensued.

As much as he had enjoyed his friends' exuberant enjoyment of the day, Aragorn was also grateful for the contented silence which reigned on the hillside a short distance from their campsite. Normally they would have brought out their pipes beside the fire, and just smoked there. But Elladan had decided that pipe-smoke could aggravate still healing lungs such as Frodo's, and nothing and no one could convince Lord Elrond's youngest son that the relaxation and psychological benefits that Frodo gained from being around pipe smoke outweighed the risk of it. Not even Lord Elrond.

"So overrule him, Ada." Aragorn had suggested to his father, flanked by hopeful hobbits.

Elrond had thrown his hands up in frustration, "I would, ion-nin, dear friends, but the last time that Elladan was this insistent about something, he was right." Aragorn wasn't sure whether the subtext on that was that Elrond thought there was a good chance that Elladan was right again this time, or more an unspoken,' that happened before the Shadow fell, and I'm STILL hearing about it, and I'm not willing to risk giving Elladan someting else to hold over me.' Either way, the hobbits had reluctantly accepted Elladan's verdict, although Aragorn suspected that as soon as they took their leave of Minas Tirith to return to the shire next week, Sam would be handing Frodo a pipe himself.

But for now, Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli and Elrohir had taken a walk to smoke their pipes, while the hobbits stayed behind to 'help' Faramir and Legolas toast sweet bread.

The 'older' group, as Legolas had laughingly named them, finished their smoke and headed back through the moonlit glen towards their camp site. The silvery light of the moon between the hills was bright and clear, and Aragorn smiled at the scent of flowers in the pleasantly warm evening breeze. The wind brought the fresh scent of water and trees, the fragrant smell of lilies and irises and the more faint, delicate aroma of wild roses and hyacinths. As they walked through the field, Aragorn heard Sam, "And Prince Faramir says that so many plants grow here, because of the winds up the river bring the warmth of the southern seas,"

"He's quite right, as usual." Elrohir's twin Elladan replied pleasantly, as he snipped an herb into a collection basket that Samwise held for him, "the Mountains trap the warmth here, and that is what made Elendil and my Adar and cousin Ereinion's horticultural experts recommend to the Elendili that they settle this land, and plant it with the flora that they had saved from Numenor."

"And it all still grows?" Sam asked, in pleased amazement.

Elladan nodded, "Aye, wild now, but it grows. Well," he amended, his eyes dancing with amusement, "MOSTLY wildly."

Aragorn nodded in greeting to his foster-brother, and smiled at Sam, "You should take back some seeds with you."

"Hence," Elladan pointed out in a friendly fashion, "the basket. But we've enough, for now. We should rejoin our friends, 'ere they eat all the sweetbread and honey."

 

The wind shifted, and Aragorn could smell their fire, and the mouth-watering smell of Dol Amroth sweet bread. Even better, Aragorn could hear the laughter of his dear friends, and happy voices.

Upon their return, they found everyone laughing helplessly, except for Faramir and the members of the White Company who had also been former rangers of Ithilien. They looked smug, while Faramir himself looked very composed, but perhaps pleased in his quiet way.

Aragorn nodded at his Steward, and gave the youth a pleased smile. It was good to see Faramir relaxing. Aragorn would like to be able to offer Faramir a comradely arm or friendly embrace in greeting, but the younger man still shied away from such displays of affection, save from his future bride or his Dol Amroth family. That worried Aragorn, on some level. And he had forced the issue, from time to time, when Faramir seemed in need. After Aragorn had learned of Faramir's risky ventures into the condemned storehouses, Aragorn had lectured his Steward quite sternly, and spanked him soundly. Seeing how unsteady Faramir had appeared after that, Aragorn had pulled the younger man into a fatherly embrace. And Faramir had allowed it, for a few moments at least. But as a general rule, he seemed unwelcoming of such affection, and Aragorn felt it important to respect Faramir's wishes in the matter. Aragorn had learned the hard way that not all humans were as fond of casual displays of affection as the elves who had helped to raise him. So Aragorn merely offered Faramir a fond smile.

Approaching Legolas instead, Aragorn laid a gentle hand on his long-time friend's shoulder, and asked lightly, "What's the topic of conversation?"

Legolas, green eyes gleaming, explained, "We are having a contest. The topic is 'stupid lies that I've gotten yrch to believe long enough for it to matter.'"

Pippin, grinning, but evidently determined to play fair, inquired brightly, "Are you sure that my 'I have to go to the bathroom because hobbits are allergic to mushrooms,' really counts, Legolas? Merry and I didn't manage to actually get more than a hundred or so yards away before they caught us again."

Legolas nodded firmly, as did Faramir's former lieutenant Anborn, "Quite sure, Sir Pippin. Every minute counts, in a hostage situation."

Gimli added, "Aye, yon ranger has the right of that, Pippin-me-lad. Every minute brought Legolas, Aragorn and I time to get closer to ye, and brought ye and Merry closer to Eomer's riders of Rohan and the skirmish ye clever lads were able to escape."

"It wasn't our first try, at escaping." Merry put in, and Aragorn was taken aback by the grim humor in his voice. It was as if the hobbit had become a seasoned campaigner, in less than two years. Aragorn sighed.

Legolas told the younger hobbits quietly, "But after your first attempt, it cost the enemy more time watching you, so that they had less attention on their scouting ahead and their other tasks."

Merry raised an unconvinced eyebrow, and Aragorn decided that Merry, at least, had been spending entirely too much time with Aragorn's Ada Elrond and Uncle Erestor.

Faramir nudged Merry gently, and said with quiet intensity, "Legolas speaks truth. It took up their time, Master Meriadoc, which slowed them up."

Aragorn added, with an affectionate look at the hobbits, "You both did very well. To survive being captives, to leave a trail, to escape, and to talk Tree-beard and the ents into joining the war effort."

Merry, starting to grin, "Well, Strider, I don't know how much we helped with that last. I think our primary argument was that we weren't yrch ourselves, and at last the ents agreed that we were at least smarter and more patient than orcs."

Gandalf snorted in amusement, "That you most certainly are."

Elrohir, who loved betting and contests of all kinds, took advantage of the lull in conversation to ask Legolas, "Just out of interest, what are the stakes, and who's winning?"

Legolas gave one of his favorite cousins a knowing grin, "The stakes are that the winner and/or his proxy who tells the tale gets to sleep in tomorrow morning, while the losers cook breakfast and ready the camp for departure."

Anborn added, "And my Captain, ah, my Prince, Faramir, is currently winning, with "My 500 friends are waiting just beyond that bend."

Elrohir and Elladan laughed delightedly in unison, while Magordan sighed. Aragorn didn't say anything, but he did favor Faramir with a patient look.

Faramir smiled slightly and said, "The orcs who believed that were not the cream of the yrch tribes, what can I say." Looking toward his King, Faramir asked, "I would nonetheless, take it as a personal favor if you didn't mention the tale to my uncle."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, "Or to your future wife?"

Faramir smiled slightly, "Oh, I told Eowyn"

Aragorn sighed, thinking that the combination of Eowyn and Faramir was going to give him white hair, "Of course you did, my Steward."

"She laughed herself silly, and said that she wished Grima Wormtongue had been so easy to fool," Faramir explained fondly of his fuure bride.

Gandalf snorted in agreement, "As do I. It took a good deal of energy to expel that foul man and his influence from Rohan, and whole families were disappeared due to his foul influence before we arrived."

Aragorn said quietly, "I'm glad that you were able to...return to us, to help us in Rohan, old friend." Turning back to Anborn, Aragorn asked, "tell me, Captain Anborn, why it was that our Faramir, as the commander of the Ithilien rangers was out speaking with yrch himself? I am curious..."

Faramir sat with the calmness of a man who'd more-or-less figured out that he didn't have to be afraid of his King, as his former lieutenant Anborn explained, "Ah, well that time, with those yrch, wasn't actually so bad. Now, the time that..."

Faramir smoothly interrupted, "Now, Anborn, you're speaking over our much esteemed Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. Legolas, did you not say that your story had ours beat?"

Legolas, with a grin showing his appreciation for Faramir's clever attempt to distract his King, gamely answered, "Aye, Faramir, I did. My story..."

"Ha!" Gimli interjected, "Of course, elf, your story is even more ridiculous than lying to yrch about having superior numbers. What, after all, should we expect from the foolish creature who 'surfed' down the back of an oliphaunt?"

Legolas grandly ignored Gimli save for an affectionate smile, "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, my story is, of course, not about me, as I am too sensible to try talking to yrch instead of kiling them. Instead it is about one of my father's soldiers, and oh, of course..." Legolas trailed off meaningfully, whilst impishly smiling at Elrohir.

"I am not out of stories about you, you know, tithen-las." Elrohir said threateningly, with a quelling look for his young cousin.

Legolas snorted in a rather dwarven manner, which caused Aragorn and Faramir to both duck their heads to hide smiles. Leoglas told Elrohir in a younger brother's aggrieved tone, "You've already told the worst of those stories, Elrohir. I'm no you, and I've heard no fewer than eight elves who knew both of us say that my father is lucky to have ended up with a child like me, when in their opinion he he deserved you and your twin."

Gandalf chuckled, "But I'll bet that they didn't say it loudly, if they were around your Adar."

Legolas replied, smiling in agreement, "Well, no, they didn't.

"But you can go ahead and tell this story, Legolas," Elladan encouraged, with a beatific and somehow also chiding smile directed towards his twin, "I like it."

Elrohir sighed aggrievedly, and snapped, "Elladan, it was not my fault that Adar would not send both of us, or that you were the one who was exhausted from mixing up eternal fire for infinite hours with the other alchemists!"

Grinning his cat-that-got-the-canary smile, Legolas put in, "Oh, but what happened later was at least partially your fault, 'Roh..."

Aragorn chuckled, and thought to himself that Elrohir should probably not have hidden Legolas' favorite arrows before their hunt earlier that day, as Aragorn's elven gwador the young Prince of the Greenwood proceeded to tell a story that had happened the better part of four centuries before his own birth.

 

Flashback: Set during the assault on Dol Guldur in T.A. 2053, the successful completion of which marked the beginning of the Watchful Peace

 

Thranduil Oropherion, ruler of the enbattled Greenwood, crept carefully along the wall of the enemy stronghold of Dol Guldur. The blond King moved silently, single file with the other elven soldiers whom he'd organized to support the wizard Mithrandir's plan to infiltrate and attack this fortress. Dol Guldur, which loomed over what had once been Thranduil's elflinghood home of Amon Lanc. Thranduil snarled, recalling how his first sight of the once-beautiful Amon Lanc as they approached Dol Guldur had nearly brought him to tears. What had once been green, verdant, and peaceful, rich with life, was now blackened and corrupted. And Mithrandir said that he thought the Enemy was to blame for this horror, though the germ for that idea had come from cousin Elrond's baby daughter, Arwen, now called the Evening Star.

Thranduil pushed back his rage at what had been done to beautiful Amon Lanc. He put aside his overwhelming fury at the attacks, apparently coordinated by Sauron, upon the human kingdom of Arnor and its successor states, once the home of Thranduil's beloved human gwedyr Elendur, Aratan, Ciryon, and Valandil. Thranduil suppressed his deep, seething anger at the death of his beloved cousin Elrond's youngest son, Belemir. Slain by the sword of the Witch-King of Angmar, who Mithrandir said was a servant of Sauron.

Sauron, who Mithrandir, Elrond, Galadriel, and others who had the gift of sight were now certain was the author of the thousand year siege on Thranduil's beloved wooded homeland. The millennium of attacks that had cost Thranduil and his people not just one home but two. Those attacks had claimed countless numbers of Thranduil's elves, including many of his own friends and family. The wood itself, the trees and plants and creatures, seethed with anger and hatred. And Thranduil felt that rage, that yearning for revenge. He couldn't help it.

Thranduil took a deep breath, and forced himself to stay in the moment. He was too disciplined a soldier to give into temper, no matter how justified, when he had an important job to do.

Rochendil, the General of Greenwood's Armies, walked before Thranduil, still unhappy that his Aran had insisted on being part of the assault team. Less than a pace from his King, Rochendil glanced back at the barely-there sound of Thranduil's exhale.

Thranduil met Rochendil's eyes, close enough to see the flecks of brown and gold in his general and mentor's green eyes, and nodded once. Yes, the Aran was fine. No, Thranduil wasn't going to ask the forest to attack Dol Guldur prematurely. He had better control than that.

Rochendil nodded back, the message of affection and support clear in his eyes. Thranduil was grateful for it, and grateful for the strong presence of his gwador Linwe behind him, and for his gwador Fileg, who followed behind the healer soldier Theli, and before Lord Glorfindel and the Imladris elves. Elves from Lothlorien's army walked noiselessly behind the Imladris soldiers, and Thranduil's fourth gwador Veassen and several other ancient Greenwood scouts brought up the rear.

All of the elves participating in the assault on Dol Guldur were not only proven soldiers and scouts, but also had a partial immunity to the wiles of Mordor, either through powerful ancestors in their lineage, like Thranduil and Fileg, or through natural stoicism, such as Linwe. Well, all of the elves except for Lady Ambaraxiel, the Master Architect and Engineer of Imladris, who was not technically a soldier. She was far from helpless, but she was among their number for a different reason. Specifically, to ensure that the explosives they carried were placed and detonated where they would do the most damage to the structure and its denizens, while hopefully allowing the elves themselves time to get out of the way.

The elven soldiers and Ambaraxiel all paused, instantly, as their party's forward scout, an ancient Greenwood soldier, held up a hand. Then they all dropped soundlessly at the scout's signal, Thranduil crouching between Linwe and Rochendil on top of the outer wall of Dol Guldur.

The two dozen elves waited, motionless, as the sound of many shod feet came into hearing range, as well as the harsh sounds of the orcish tongue.

Thranduil tensed in worry. If the orcs continued on their path, they would almost certainly come across where the Wizard Mithrandir had secreted himself, before Mithrandir was ready.

Beside Thranduil, Linwe suddenly moved, reaching out a hand. But it was too late. Where Theli had been, there was now an empty space. Thranduil watched in helpless horror as the young idiot he'd argued in favor of bringing rolled silently down the wall. There was nothing that any of the other elves could do - revealing themselves before they had planted the explosives could jeopardize the success of their part of the desperate mission.

 

Behind him, Lord Glorfindel cursed, and Thranduil noticed with a twinge that there were now two idiots. Cousin Elrond would not like losing a son. Thranduil then heard a very soft, 'oof,' from Rumil, from which he surmised that the youngest of Elrohir's uncles had been about to join his nephew, which intention had been thwarted by Rumil's elder brother Haldir.

 

Thranduil and the other elves watched with growing fear as Theli trotted across the courtyard in the direction of their enemies, followed by Elrohir. To Thranduil's surprise, Theli paused to listen as Elrohir suggested something. Theli nodded, murmured something back, and then poured a flagon of medicinal wine over the both of them. The two young elves then linked arms, and strolled in a weaving manner, as if they were very drunk, right into the path of the orcs.

 

Lord Glorfindel swore under his breath.

Listening, Thranduil made a mental note, in the midst of his worried, angry apprehension over being about to lose a soldier who was a friend, and a cousin who was like a nephew, that he should ask someone someday what those Quenya words meant. They sounded exceptionally insulting, and Thranduil prided himself on his ability to curse creatively in a number of tongues. Thranduil suppressed a thought of his adar-i-gur and chief advisor Herdir, who often remarked exasperatedly, "Thranduil, if you could speak our neighbor's tongues as well as you could curse in them, it would be entirely more laudable." Herdir had been violently opposed to Thranduil's going on this mission, and Thranduil aspired to live long enough to tell his worried advisor, 'I told you so,' which Thranduil would not feel like doing, if Elrohir or Theli got themselves killed. Young idiots.

The orcs snarled a challenge at Theli and Elrohir, quickly surrounding the two young officers.

"Oh, hello!" Theli said brightly, before lisping, "This isn't...this isn't..hiccup! This isn't where I left my horse!"

For a moment, Thranduil shook with silent, helpless laughter at the extreme cheekiness of Theli's desperate ruse, before fear for the two younger elves banished his levity completely.

The orcs were indeed very distracted by the sudden, inexplicable appearance of two apparently drunken, lost, elves amongst them. The diversion had, quite possibly, saved Mithrandir's part of this whole fiasco. But then the orcs were gone, taking Theli and Elrohir deeper into the complex, and it was time for Thranduil and the remaining members of his team to move, and Thranduil had no time to think about the fate of Theli and Elrohir until the day was won.


	6. This isn't where I left my horse, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack on Dol Guldur. It won't make sense if you haven't read the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgments: I forgot to mention this in Part I, but thanks to Emma and Kaylee for letting me borrow their characters Rochendil, Linwe, Veassen, Fileg, and Healer Galad, and helping me to get their characterisation right. Thanks also to everyone who has taken the time to let me know that they liked Part I of this story, and to everyone who has told me that they like Theli.
> 
>  
> 
> Excerpted from the end of Part I:
> 
> 'The orcs snarled a challenge at Theli and Elrohir, quickly surrounding the two young officers.
> 
> "Oh, hello!" Theli said brightly, before lisping, "This isn't...this isn't..hiccup! This isn't where I left my horse!"
> 
> For a moment, Thranduil shook with silent, helpless laughter at the extreme cheekiness of Theli's desperate ruse, before fear for the two younger elves banished his levity completely.
> 
> The orcs were indeed very distracted by the sudden, inexplicable appearance of two apparently drunken, lost, elves amongst them. The diversion had, quite possibly, saved Mithrandir's part of this whole fiasco. But then the orcs were gone, taking Theli and Elrohir deeper into the complex, and it was time for Thranduil and the remaining members of his team to move, and Thranduil had no time to think about the fate of Theli and Elrohir until the day was won."

And win they did, and amazingly without losing a single member of the allied team of elves and Istar. Haldir was seriously wounded pulling Lady Ambaraxiel and her assistant to safety, but Healer Galadaelinethuil (who normally went by his short-name Galad) assured Thranduil that Celeborn's adopted heir would survive without suffering permanent harm. Healer Galad and the other support staff had remained outside Dol Guldur during the fighting, with the Wizard Saruman. Thranduil had thought that Saruman had been supposed to enter the fortress to aid Mithrandir if Mithrandir proved right about the enemy being there (Saruman had been dismissive of the possibility, and of this entire venture). Mithrandir had found found the enemy, of that Thranduil had no doubt. He knew Sauron's voice from the War of the Last Alliance, and he'd heard it echo down the halls of Dol Guldur, in rage and pain as Mithrandir revealed himself just as Sauron's servants deserted their master's presence chamber to deal with the fortress exploding around them. Thranduil had felt in his bones the mighty struggle between the Enemy and Mithrandir, which Mithrandir had only barely won, despite Sauron's incorporeal state. Yet here Saruman still was, outside the fortress instead of aiding Mithrandir. And with a chalk-white expression on his face, and the ghost of debilitating fear in his eyes. It did not improve Thranduil's already low opinion of Saruman.

Nor did Saruman's criticisms of Thranduil's orders, and Thranduil's team. Thranduil and the elves who had accompanied him into the fortress had risked worse than death, and all Saruman could do was ask why they hadn't done a better, faster job of blowing the fortress up, and supporting Mithrandir.

"Mithrandir said that he could handle his part with your aid, once we realized what we were dealing with. Where were you?" Thranduil snapped back.

Saruman looked away haughtily, not even looking at Thranduil as he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "A mere child like you cannot possibly understand the forces that Mithrandir and I were combating. For me to put myself at risk when we almost lost his life today, would have been unconscionably reckless. If you continue to question me so impertinently on matters which are not your affair, tithen "Aran," then you will not like the consequences."

Fortunately Rochendil and a scout distracted Thranduil with questions about the possibility of a retaliatory assault from the Enemy's allies in the Brown Lands, otherwise Thranduil might have left Dol Guldur as a frog, despite their victory.

Upon the reappearance of the smoke-stained Mithrandir and the blood-stained Theli and Elrohir (both of whom looked only a little the worse for wear, Thranduil noted with relief, although they'd lost their packs and weapons, and bore only orcish swords and daggers), Saruman acidly berated the two young elves, "What if the yrch had actually taken you directly to their master's spirit? Then he could have stripped our plans from your feeble little minds like that," Saruman paused his tirade for a moment to snap his fingers, before continuing, "and Mithrandir and I would have risked ourselves for nothing! Luthien might well have been able to deceive Sauron, for her mother was one of us, but your blood is much thinner, Elrondion! And your fool of a companion is no more than a glorified village bumpkin."

Elrohir looked like he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed, defiant, or chastened, and Theli was ignoring Saruman entirely in favor of assisting Galadaelinethuil with the other wounded. Theli was also ignoring Healer Galad's lecture on impulsiveness being a poor trait in a healer, Thranduil noted absently, as he focused on Rochendil's questions, and tried to control his temper.

Thranduil was annoyed at Saruman. Oh, he'd been upset with Theli and Elrohir too, but they'd meant well, and everything had worked out. True, luck must have been on the two young elves' side, for yrch to have believed their story enough not to look for the rest of the elven party, and long enough that Theli and Elrohir had made it out of the experience alive. But the risk that they had taken had been a measured one, and had been for the purpose of protecting Saruman's brother wizard, which Saruman didn't even acknowledge. In the end, in Thrandul's opinion, whether it was best to detach elves to provide a diversion had been a judgment call. Granted, it had been THRANDUIL'S call, not Elrohir's judgment call, as the second-in-command of the Imladris troops, and certainly not Theli's judgment call. But still, the moment had moved fast. And as to the point about the danger to them all if the Enemy had chosen to strip the two younger elves' minds...well, so far as Thranduil could tell, the orcs discovering Mithrandir at that premature point would have been almost as bad. And Elrohir was the grandson of both Elwing and Galadriel, and likely had some defenses to that kind of thing. As did Theli, who intrigued Galadriel, and whose family members included a 'backwoods bumpkin' of a grandfather whose power had given Thranduil goose bumps, and, oh yes, also Orophin, who was one of the most powerful of any of Galadriel's students. And anyway, Thranduil really didn't appreciate Saruman insulting his cousin Elrohir or his elf Theli. But yelling at the Wizard seemed foolish and potentially dangerous, so instead Thranduil said levelly, "I need all of you to stop talking and start preparing to leave. I want us to be away from here well before dark."

Saruman gave Thranduil a cold look, but did go to supervise the Noldorin elves whom he'd brought with him as servants. Thranduil listened with one ear as Saruman ordered them to pack his saddle bags with the items that they had found.

Then Thranduil had no more attention to spare for Saruman, for the trees were speaking to him most urgently. In particular one oak that Thranduil had used to climb as an elfling, confess his troubles to as a young elf, and consult with in the early years of his Kingship, before the elves had been driven ever northward by the foul spirit of Sauron and his creatures.

"Thhra....ann...dduillll.....," the oak gasped, its voice in the Wood-King's mind pained as if it had endured centuries of torture. Which it had.

"I am here, old friend." Thranduil promised the tree,turning to caress its bark despite the stinging insects and slimy fungi, "I am here at last. We will help to make you well, again, now that the source of the foulness is gone."

"Looovve yooouu, myyy elllff-fffriennndd," the tree whispered in love and regret, "But toooo laaate. Ittt isss tooo laaate, forrr ussss." All around Thranduil, other trees agreed. Most of them. Some few reached out their branches to attack the elves and the two Istar, and spoke darkly of how with the Enemy in charge, they'd had all the blood they could drink.

Thranduil wept, but he turned to Veassen and Rochendil, "Set up a barrier, and light all the trees within..." Thranduil paused, and then continued, a forest of suffering in his eyes, "a mile, on fire." Turning to address Linwe and Theli, Thranduil commanded, "Build a breach afterward, earth, and the creek, if you can divert it."

"We can." Lord Glorfindel confirmed, "We still have explosives."

The elves were all moving, and Mithrandir, too. Grabbing shovels and heading towards the creek.

Theli, a shovel in hand, paused, "We really...do we...must we...," the younger elf was crying, and Thranduil didn't need him to finish the sentence anyway. Thranduil knew that Theli felt the forest, too. Knew that the young healer-and-soldier had nightmares, still, of the burned out entwives' nurseries, on the way to the last War. The same nightmares the King still suffered from, on the odd occasion.

"Aye, tithen mellon," the King said, not bothering to hide his own sorrow. "We must. Come, help me dig this fire break. I know that you know how to dig ditches with the best of them."

That quip had Theli laughing through his tears, at least for a moment.

Then they were digging, and burning, and running, and blowing up an old-growth tree (a volunteer) and part of the river bank, and then running again.

When they finally regrouped several miles from Amon Lanc, Thranduil was relieved to see that all of his elves were still accounted for. Oh, some had burns, but nothing too serious, and Haldir's wounds had not worsened in the flight. Ambaraxiel's burns had gotten worse, and Thranduil listened with half an ear as Theli and Galad bickered semi-amicably over how best to treat them, since Galad's pack had been left behind fleeing from the flames, and Theli's healer's kit was back with the dead orcs who had taken him captive at the fortress.

"Oh, Master Healer Nestorion is just going to love that you got taken prisoner and lost your satchel," Galad scolded Theli, as he carefully picked apart the singed bandaging on Ambaraxiel's hand.

"Shut up, Galad." Theli retorted, just as gently unwinding the bandage from Ambaraxiel's other hand.

Thranduil ignored his healers' familiar bickering, and reached out again, forcing himself to feel his leafy friends' agony as they burned in the fires they had bid him to set.

"I'm sorry," He called to them, his spirit burning with regret and sorrow, "I'm so sorry we couldn't have come in time."

"Agggghhhhh," the trees screamed in pain, but in the screaming, Thranduil heard a new noise, "Thrannndduuill-myyy-ellffflinngg," it was the oak, and his breeze-like voice in Thranduil's mind sounded like a silver trumpet, "Youuu weree in timmmee...nott forr usss, butt forr the Woooddd....youuu arre annndd willll allllwaaayysss beee ourrr friend....timmee, timee for hope...." The oak laughed triumphantly as it died, and Thranduil felt a little better. But still worse than he had, since Veassen's father died a dozen years ago, leading a spider aside to give his young apprentices time to make it back to the safety of the Hall.

"Gwador, we did what we had to do." It was Veassen beside Thranduil, and because Vea knew him well, and Vea asked him to, Thranduil took a flagon from Veassen, and drank.

"Honey?" Thranduil asked in surprise, "Sweet tea with honey?"

"For you, gwador." Veassen gave him a small, tired smile. "I thought that you could use the sweet."

Theli's head popped up, "Honey? Captain, do you have anymore?"

Vea rolled his eyes, "Not for you, Lieutenant. Not after that stunt, earlier today."

"No, for Lady Ambaraxiel's hands," Theli explained, undaunted, "Honey is actually a good disinfectant."

"You're getting 'Nandorin wives' tales' mixed up with actual healing again, Theli." Galad disagreed.

"No, really. Lord Elladan ran tests on it; honey worked better than anything else that we still have on us." Theli asserted.

"That's true, he did, and honey worked well." Glorfindel remembered, with a grateful nod towards Theli, which made Thranduil recall Elrond telling him once that Glorfindel had baby-sat Lady Ambaraxiel when she had been a young elfling, long ago in the undying lands.

Elrohir, assisting Haldir to sit up and drink, shared an amused smile with his Captain as he agreed, "Yes, I recall that, because my twin would not shut up about it." Thranduil could hear clearly in Elrohir's tone that he missed his twin dearly, but he knew Elrond's stoic heir quite well. No one else seemed to have noticed Elrohir's momentary sadness.

When the entire party had rested and all of the wounds had been seen to, even the horses,' and Thranduil was running over last minute changes to their routes with his scouts, he looked up as Lord Glorfindel's voice changed from the soft tones he had used, soothing Lady Ambaraxiel, to the firm tone of the stern commander.

"Come with me, hir dithen nin," The balrog-slayer said, pulling Elrohir aside with a strong hand around the young peredhel's upper arm.

Thranduil hid a wince of sympathy. Thranduil always knew that he was in trouble when one of his senior retainers or elder family members called him tithen Aran nin, "my little King." He wondered if the same were true for Elrohir when his captain called him 'my little lord.' From Elrohir's fractional wince at the diminutive term following the title, Thranduil rather thought that it was, and felt some empathy despite his own lingering worry and anger with Elrond's oldest son. Well Thranduil remembered what it was like to have gotten on the balrog-slayer's bad side. But Glorfindel had every right to punish his lieutenant, Lord's son or no, so Thranduil did not intervene.

Glorfindel caught sight of Theli, kneeling beside Healer Galad and sorting supplies, and growled, "You too, tithen nestor nin. I'd thought that you'd have learned better in the last few millenia, than to do crazy things like swing over oliphaunts or fall down walls to walk right into the arms of superior numbers of orcs."

Theli's expressive face showed his shock, and he made an "eep" sound as the balrog-slayer effortlessly began towing him deeper into the trees with the arm that wasn't securing Elrohir.

"Uh, with all respect, Lord Glorfindel, Theli's an idiot but he's not your idiot to deal with." Healer Galad bravely objected, looking uncertainly to his King.

Glorfindel stopped, and turned to give Galad a look surprisingly free of disapproval. "You are quite right, Healer Galadaelinethuil." Belatedly appealing to Thranduil, Glorfindel's blue eyes half-asked, half-demanded, "With your permission, Aran Thranduil?"

Thranduil sighed, suppressing his momentary surprise that Glorfindel even knew that Theli's nickname amongst the healers who had survived the war had been "tithen-nestor" or little healer, as well as Thranduil's knee-jerk reaction, which was to take offense to Glorfindel's grabbing Theli without first consulting Thranduil. Thranduil had to remind himself that this was not a case of a Noldo soldier thinking that he was superior to all of the Sindar and Silvan commanders and rulers, but rather a case of Elrond's faithful captain taking an interest in one of Elrond's protegees. More, Theli had, for that matter, been one of Glorfindel's own soldiers during the last war.

Thranduil thought a moment. This wasn't, in Thranduil's opinion, a matter serious enough for him as Aran to take Theli to task. Theli was really more Linwe's responsibility, as he served in Linwe's unit, or failing that he was Rochendil's problem as a Greenwood soldier. Although Theli was a member of Thranduil's household as a healer, he had been serving as a soldier, when he slid down that wall in violation of the general requirement that Greenwood soldiers not do mad, reckless things without orders or permission. So Thranduil looked to Linwe and Rochendil, who nodded their assent. Ignoring the hopeful, pleading expression on Theli's face, and the similar but better hidden appeal on Elrohir's, Thranduil replied, "Leave them both able to ride, Lord Glorfindel. I wish to be gone from this place at a good pace, within the half-hour."

Glorfindel nodded, and in a tone which did not bode well for the two young elves, promised, "They'll be able to ride, and regret it.

Thranduil nodded back, satisfied that Imladris' Captain understood Thranduil's unspoken command that he did not wish to be slowed by two riders with bottoms too sore to move swiftly, however well deserved their punishment.

Elrohir accepted his fate stoically, as was his nature. Thranduil had to suppress a smile at Theli's let's-make-a-deal-tone, the same one that he used to tell his King things like, "If you take this medicine even though you think that you don't need it, I'll tell you how to to say that someone's mother is a skunk-showered donkey in Westron,' as the younger elf appealed, "But Captain Glorfindel, Healer Galad needs me to help him pack up the healing supplies we found!"

"Oh, I can certainly do without you at this point, tithen nestor, as your actions today made it so that I nearly needed to do so permanently." Galad said with a bright, hard grin, "Besides I'm sure that Master Nestorion would whole-heartedly agree with the message the good Captain of Imladris intends to impart."

"NO, you can't, Galad, you need my help," Theli objected more stridently, "You always trim the purpleflower roots too short."

Galad glared at Theli, as Elrohir kicked his temporary partner-in-recklessness, admonishing, "Please do shut up, Lieutenant. Sometimes you're almost worse than Elladan."

As Glorfindel and his two reluctant companions disappeared from view, Thranduil had to fight another smile as he heard Theli shout over his shoulder, "Galad, I do hope that I can perform a similar favor for you someday!"

As he'd promised, Glorfindel returned Elrohir and Theli within the half-hour. The younger elves were moving a bit stiffly, but were well able to keep up. Healer Galad had the entire party drink a mixed stimulant and pain-killer a few hours later, after which Thranduil noticed that Elrohir stopped shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.

They didn't camp the first night. The moon was fat and full, and for once unobscured by clouds. Thranduil's heart leapt with joy at how much cleaner the forest felt around him, but Rochendil's fears of retribution from the Enemy's creatures and historic allies to the South were not unfounded. So the elves pressed on through the darkness and into the next day. Only Saruman and Ambaraxiel complained about their pace. Ambaraxiel's complaint was more a whimper of pain, and Thranduil could not blame her for it. Burns were painful injuries. He stopped the horses long enough for the healers to attend to Lady Ambaraxiel again, and for her to be moved to ride double with Lord Glorfindel, whose horse had the smoothest paces. At Theli's request, they treated a pale-faced Haldir again as well.

Healer Galad's face twisted in annoyance and concern at discovering the blood-soaked bandages, "When I said, 'Tell me if your wounds pain you, or if they open up again,' Lord Haldir, I meant for you to tell me, so that we could stop to re-bind them and give you more pain-killer."

"I'm fine," Haldir protested through gritted teeth.

"I warned you that he was a horrible patient." Theli said quietly, handing Haldir a stick to bite down on as he expertly re-stitched the deepest of his cousin's wounds.

Haldir turned his face away from the flask that Healer Galad offered him, and Theli reprimanded his younger cousin sharply in Nandorin, before ordering firmly in Sindarin, "Haldir, drink. You will be fine, but only if you do as we say."

Haldir cursed, and protested, "But, Adar entrusted me with...."

"Hal-nin!" Rumil objected lovingly, from his position beside his brother, holding Haldir's hand, "You are sorely wounded. Adar entrusted me with command, should you be so incapacitated. You trust me to lead our elves wisely, do you not?" Rumil's pleading gaze was a power known and respected within the family, and Haldir conceded, and took the medicine he was offered. Afterward, he was moved to Theli's horse, since Theli was both healer and well-trained in reading his stoic cousin's body language.

Then the elves pressed on, as the sun traveled the sky, the threat from the south dimmed, and the forest rejoiced around them.


	7. This isn't where I left my horse, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the story begun in Part I, complete with epilogue after Legolas finished telling the story in 3019.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgments: Thanks to Emma and Kaylee for letting me borrow their characters Rochendil, Linwe, Veassen, Fileg, and Healer Galad, and helping me to get their characterisation right.
> 
>  
> 
> Excerpted from the end of Part II:
> 
> "[T]he elves pressed on, as the sun traveled the sky, the threat from the south dimmed, and the forest rejoiced around them.'

At last, just as the stars appeared again, they reached the old, abandoned Greenwood guard station, where they'd camped on their way to Dol Guldur, the last night that Thranduil had permitted fires. He and his advisors had thought the risk justified, since they had been able to hide the smoke entirely in the spacious cave which had once been a storeroom for weaponry, food, wood, and other supplies. Thranduil took a deep breath as he dismounted, permitting himself a moment to recall fondly the many times he had camped at this site, when he had been on patrol as a young soldier then officer. Catching Fileg's eyes for a moment, the Aran remembered that it was at this very camp site that they'd once set a skunk on some older soldiers who were giving them a hard time, as a prank.

"I can see to having the camp set up, Aran-nin. You should rest." Veassen offered, and Thranduil let his officer take over. Thranduil still helped to set up the camp, soothed by the long-familiar tasks of caring for their horses, but it was a relief to let someone else be in charge of the details, for a brief time. Fortunately, Glorfindel was a practical sort who didn't mind taking orders from the much younger Veassen, and if the balrog-slayer was gathering kindling at Veassen's request, no one else seemed minded to object. They were all exhausted, anyway.

Saruman almost immediately retired to his tent, which Veassen had put Elrohir and Theli in charge of putting up. Mithrandir lingered with the others. Mostly keeping the wounded Haldir company, but at times lending a hand where one was needed. Thranduil thought again that if it had been Saruman rather than Mithrandir who had discovered that the Enemy was at Dol Guldur, and subsequently determined to go and confront him, Thranduil would have been very tempted to just say, "good luck with that," instead of helping to organize the elven realms and his own soldiers to assist.

The woodland King finished caring for the last of the group's horses, and, with a last caress to his own mount's velvety nose, Thranduil turned back to their main campsite. Set-up was almost complete, and parties of two and three elves were leaving to hunt and fish, and gather supplies. Thranduil's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Elrohir and Theli, speaking quietly with Gandalf.

"You two." The King called out irritatedly, his eyes flashing blue fire as he approached them, "What was that, back there at the fortress?" Thranduil's voice increased to a quiet roar, "I thought that I was perfectly clear when I said no stupid stunts!"

Thranduil's little cousin Elrohir winced, and started to apologize. Theli just gave Thranduil an half-apologetic, half- 'and-so-why-didn't-you-do-something-so-that-I-didn't-have-to,' look.

Thranduil glared back, an 'I thought we talked about this when I overruled your commanding officers and brought you' look, but then he sighed, and took a few moments to calm himself down. People he cared about doing stupid, dangerous things angered him. And Thranduil was extremely fond of Elrohir, who was the son of two of Thranduil's favorite cousins, Elrond and Celebrian. And he was fond of Theli, who had been Thranduil's dearly beloved foster-son Thalion's favorite healer, when Thalion had been an elfling and a young ellon, and who was still one of Thalion's favorite healers. Thranduil himself preferred no healer whatsoever, or if he must have one for an injury that didn't scare him, he preferred Healer Galadaelinethuil, who was about his own age. If Thranduil was really hurt, he wanted Master Healer Nestorion, who had been his healer since he was an elfling. Thranduil had tried to go to Theli as a healer several times with hopes that Theli would be discreet enough not to mention the Aran's needing treatment to Nestorion or Galad, but that hope had always been in vain, which Thranduil couldn't blame Theli for. He had his duties as a healer, and he took them seriously. Now if only he took his own safety and following military procedures anywhere near so seriously....

Even Theli looked abashed, now, and Thranduil took another deep breath. He was angry, yes. Thranduil had heard, and, in fact, was reluctantly aware, that he could be a temperamental elf. He knew himself well enough to know that he could sometimes say things he didn't really mean, when he was this angry. He was trying to be better, about that. Particularly in front of beings whom he didn't like and didn't trust, such as Saruman and Captain Sendoron, and beings whom he rather liked but didn't completely trust, such as Gandalf. Normally, Thranduil preferred to praise in public and lecture (or excoriate, probably, in this case) in private, but this had waited long enough, and Thranduil was too tired to pull the younglings off into the woods, even if his gwedyr and Rochendil would countenance the Aran taking such a fieldtrip. Which was unlikely.

Thranduil put up a hand to rub his suddenly aching head, brushing back a golden braid. Now that his anger was ebbing, he felt almost too sympathetic to properly scold Elrohir and Theli. After all, Thranduil was no stranger to seeing something that he felt needed to be done, and just going and doing it without checking with anyone else (including, when he'd been younger and not yet King, his senior officers) ahead of time. Thranduil had gotten somewhat better since becoming Aran of the largest elven realm...but he was still no stranger to responding to a crisis as he felt was needful, and consulting with others only after the fact.

In the end, Thranduil only said a few words in a quiet voice, although his eyes still sparked with displeasure, "The decision of whether to make a diversion to buy the Istar more time was mine, not either of yours. In acting as you did, you jeopardized our entire mission. I expected better judgment, from both of you."

By then, Elrohir's gray eyes showed his distress, and even the irrepressible Theli seemed somewhat chastened.

At the brief microsecond of despair that moved over Elrohir's face before it became resigned dejection, Thranduil softened the harsh scold with a faint smile, just small quirk of one side of his lips, and a quiet, "No one can doubt your bravery, or your...creativity."

"Well, he is your cousin, Thranduil." Fileg noted, with a sympathetic smile for Elrohir. "One could say that it runs in the family."

With a warning look for Fileg (because Thranduil didn't really welcome speculation about what other characteristics Elrohir had displayed in the past few days that might ALSO run in the family), Thranduil nodded, then with a warm glance at Elrohir, the Aran of the Greenwood conceded with another faint smile, "It is possible."

Linwe snorted, but at Thranduil's sharp glare of admonition, remained silent, except to nod towards Theli, and then gesture in the direction of the trees. "Lieutenant. With me."

Thranduil looked around, and upon realizing that Glorfindel was caring for Lady Ambaraxiel, and Rumil for Haldir, realized that disciplining Elrohir further for his offenses probably rested on his shoulders. Thranduil sighed reluctantly. He'd really hoped to leave Elrohir to his Captain, or one of his adoptive uncles. Still, Elrohir was Thranduil's cousin, and the Aran knew his duty to the famiy, however much he disliked it. A glance towards Fileg confirmed that Fileg and several others of his guards would follow, so Thranduil reluctantly commanded, "Elrohir. Come with me."

Elrohir swallowed nervously and nodded, but their discussion was to be delayed for a few minutes, as Theli had decided to argue the matter.

"Captain, why am I still in trouble?" Theli asked Linwe aggrievedly, "Someone had to do something, and I didn't notice you doing anything about it, or hear any ideas from anyone else."

"Lieutenant, really?" Linwe snapped back, clearly impatient, even to those who did not know him well.

Thranduil himself stared at Theli incredulously for a moment. Thranduil did know Linwe well, and by "really?," Thranduil knew that his iaur gwador meant, 'Are we really going to have to have another talk about chain of command? Specifically, the part where you don't do things like this without checking with me first?"' And Thranduil would have thought that after yeni as a soldier and then officer in Linwe's unit, Theli would know Linwe well enough to know that he didn't want to have that talk, not on top of what Theli already had coming to him for having done such a foolish thing in the first place. It was sheerest folly for Theli to keep antagonizing Linwe at a time like this. But Theli wasn't beyond 'teasing the balrog,' as Thranduil had overheard some of Theli's fellow soldiers describing the young healer-turned-soldier's often brave but heedless behavior. Sighing inwardly, Thranduil reflected that Theli was going to be a very unhappy young officer, when Linwe -and probably Linwe's strap - were finished with him.

The expression on Theli's face was still mutinous, and as his dark blue eyes met Linwe's implacable jade green orbs, there was an almost audible clash of wills. Thranduil got ready to intervene, since he knew that Linwe's patience was very limited, when an unexpected voice interrupted.

"If nothing else," the Wizard Mithrandir suggested conciliatory, "someone other than Elrohir should probably have gone with you, Lieutenant Ecthelion. He is one of our explosives experts. And in any event, you were risking sure danger to prevent the uncertain event of my premature discovery." Although the Ithron's words were critical, his gaze on Theli - and Elrohir- was fond. Thranduil recollected that Elrond's sons were frequently the Wizard's companions in his wanderings throughout the lands which had once been Arnor. And that Theli frequently joined the younger elves of Thranduil's court, listening with his face full of wonder as the Wizard spun tales of foreign lands on blustery winter nights. At that, Thranduil felt some sympathy for the two younger elves, despite their foolish actions. In Mithrandir,Thranduil had risked a valued ally, a friend of his kinsman's wife, but Theli and Elrohir, when they'd impetuously stepped into harm's way, had been acting to protect a friend. And Thranduil knew all about doing stupid things to protect his friends, and those he loved.

Theli, as he sometimes did, knew just what to say to remind Thranduil that he was seriously pissed off with the most junior of his royal healers.

As if he was saying the most reasonable things in the world, Theli protested, "But, Mithrandir, the harm from you being found then, was potentially a lot greater than my loss, strategically speaking. And I'm not responsible for Elrohir." Theli gave Elrohir a look of mingled approbation, apology, and gratitude, as he continued, "I wouldn't have picked Elrond's heir to come with me either, though his idea about pretending to be drunk was a good one, and by then it was too late. Besides, I was pretty confident of my ability to convince the orcs that I was a lone lunatic messenger who got lost, at least for long enough that it wouldn't matter."

Thranduil shook his head disbelievingly, glad that he didn't have to deal with Theli. The Aran decided that if Linwe decided to make an object lesson out of Theli, Thranduil wasn't going to intervene.

Then Thranduil's least favorite elf who'd been permitted to join them, Captain Sendoron of Lothlorien, interjected in an irritated drawl, "That you are a lunatic, 'Lieutenant Theli,' is not in question. But your generalizing based on your vast experience with yrch, is."

Theli blinked, obviously missing the sarcasm. "I wouldn't call it vast, per se." The younger elf clarified earnestly.

"That was my point, you feeble-minded idiot of a wood-elf" Sendoron sneered, his dark Noldo eyes looking at Theli as if the young Silvan elf was no more than a mote of dust, or maybe a piece of dung. Something foul that the barbarian King of Greenwood had accidentally ended up taking along on an unimportant mission, unaware that Theli was less than an animal.

Theli's expressive face stilled. Thranduil growled under his breath, and Fileg leaned forward to silently comment, *And I did so hope that this little jaunt would be free of these tedious Pretentious-Noldor-in-Lothlorien vs. Greenwood tensions....*

Thranduil nodded, keeping a tenuous grip on his patience. During Thranduil's youth, Lothlorien and Greenwood had been close allies, and so they remained. But that did not mean that there were not tensions, particularly amongst the ancient Noldor soldiers, such as Sendoron, who had survived the Battles of Beleriand, the War of Wrath, and the fall of Eregion. Sendoron was present as one of Galadriel and Celeborn's most senior Captains, though technically their adopted sons and heirs were in command of the Lothlorien elves who were present, but with Rumil's attention on Haldir, Sendoron was not just an arse mouthing off. He was the de-facto commander of Lothlorien's forces within Thranduil's assault party,and he was openly insulting one of Thranduil's soldiers.

Celeborn and his middle son Orophin were commanding a sally at the enchanted stream, along with a number of the Greenwood elves under the command of Captain Dithalos. Elrond had sent a mixed human and elven force in the direction of Angmar, and another part of Greenwood's army was massed at the Northern Hall where almost all of Thranduil's elves now made their home. The aim of these multiple diversionary musterings had been to distract the Enemy from the assualt on Dol Guldur, and it seemed to have worked. The Fortress had been lightly guarded, relatively speaking.

However, the deployment of forces meant that the first sizable group that Thranduil's party would run into was a mixed Lothlorien/Greenwood force, and Thranduil wanted to avoid that being a bad thing.

Imladris generally managed to stay on good terms with both Lothlorien and Greenwood. Elrohir, while Elrond's son and heir, had made it clear that he was present in his capacity as one of Glorfindel's lieutenants, not Glorfindel's young Lord, thus leaving the command of the Imladris soldiers in Glorfindel's hands. Thranduil wondered, idly, what would have happened if Haldir had not been wounded. Thranduil found Haldir annoying, but generally of better sense, or at least less, well, what Thranduil thought of as less Noldor-ishly superior and insufferable attitude, than Sendoron. But then Thranduil's, and for that matter, Rochendil's, Linwe's and Veasen's, first impression of Sendoron had been a poor one. Time had not improved it. And even the Greenwood soldiers who had never met Sendoron before, most of whom had called Theli an idiot themselves on one occasion or another (and certainly again since his unauthorized excursion during the assault on Dol Guldur), were becoming unhappy with Sendoron's evident scorn towards an elf who was a brave and innovative soldier, if not one possessed of a normal share of common sense.

Glorfindel, oddly enough, was one of Sendoron's oldest friends, and it was he who spoke up and defused the situation, fortunately sparing Lothlorien's wounded and worried young commanders, and the annoyed Thranduil, that trouble.

"Sendron, you're not helping." Glorfindel told his friend with genial frustration, before brusquely but fondly reprimanding Thranduil's erring soldier, "Theli, stop talking." His gaze on the young Silvan scout and healer hardening, Glorfindel commanded, "And stop giving your Captain a hard time. You're making him look bad in front of my idiot friend from Lothlorien, and I'm sure that you don't want that."

Thranduil was pretty sure that Linwe was more-or-less immune to looking foolish in front of Sendoron, whom they all disliked. Thranduil rather thought that Linwe's annoyance stemmed more from the fact that he had intended 'Lieutenant, with me' as an order, not a topic to be debated. Linwe confirmed that impression by commanding with evident short temper, "Ecthelion. Now. Unless you want me to deal with you here."

That was evidently enough to quell even Theli, whose defiant expression melted into shamed apology. He followed after Linwe with none of his usual cheer, looking almost like an elf condemned. As they reached the treeline, Theli wilted even further. Just then, Thranduil saw out of the corner of his eye that Linwe's hand moved from his side, to roughly squeeze his lieutenant's shoulder. Someone who didn't know Linwe might think that the gesture was intended just to make sure that Theli didn't dawdle, but Thranduil - and Theli- did know Linwe. The gesture was affection, and while Thranduil did not envy Theli the next half hour or so, he had faith in Linwe's ability to discipline Theli without breaking his bright spirit. Linwe might grumble about the crazy hot headed young officers he ended up with (Theli amongst them, although Linwe had at different times actually complained more about Thranduil's young cousin Coruthelion and several others), but Thranduil knew that Linwe cared about all of his soldiers. Besides, Linwe's unit always got results. Because of that, they'd spent a large part of the past thousand years in the hot spots, the worst fighting that the wood was seeing at a any given point. Linwe was one of the captains that Thranduil trusted to do not just the right thing, but the impossible thing, if it was also the right thing. In other words, Thranduil trusted Linwe almost as much as he trusted himself. And perhaps more, at this moment, than Thranduil would have trusted himself with Theli. Although he still had to deal with his little friend's partner in crime, his little cousin.

"Come, Elrohir." Thranduil commanded his young kinsman with a sigh, leading Elrond's son into the trees in the opposite direction from the one that Linwe had taken. Incidentally, Thranduil knew that it was the safer direction, or at least the direction that their scouts and hunters could, and probably already had, more easily secured. For a moment he was annoyed by that, but he let it go in favor of the somewhat intimidating task of punishing one of his secret favorites amongst his younger cousins.

Elrohir, to his credit, followed immediately, although he did ask Thranduil wonderingly, "Why does Theli protest? That usually just makes things worse."

Thranduil gave the younger scion of the Elmoi an amused look, before asking rhetorically, "I don't know, little cousin. Why does your twin Elladan always protest?" Thranduil could, in fact, remember times when Elrohir had argued most vociferously against being made to face his elders' displeasure. But it had been centuries ago, when Elrohir was an elfling - or part-elfling- in truth. So Thranduil didn't bring it up.

Elrohir shrugged, a human habit that Elrond's sons had picked up from their human foster-brothers, and explained, "Elladan just has this bug in his head about fairness, and he equates effective with right." Thranduil noted that the fond if exasperated look on Elrohir's face suggested that Elrond's eldest son thought that his twin was an idiot, sometimes, but loved him dearly nonetheless, and wouldn't criticize him.

Thranduil remarked with a hint of sympathy in his blue eyes, "That is a failing of youth, or so my elders have always said." So they had said frequently, when Thranduil had been young. Including Elrohir's parents, Elrond and Celebrian. It was odd, for Thranduil, to be in the position of disciplining their elfling. Not unprecedented - after all, the twins were of an age with Thranduil's foster-son Thalion. More, the visits of Elrond and Celebrian's family to Thranduil's realm, particularly whenever they had the twins in tow, had often resulted in the twins finding one bit of mischief, or another. Elrohir and Elladan were like some kind of catalyst, that caused troubles that had been smoldering quietly, below the notice of adults or more official elves, to spark into flame. Most of Thranduil's family alternated between being really irritated with the twins, and grateful, which in itself was irritating. Thranduil himself found the twins appealing, and their antics amusing. He tried to keep that last a secret, but he wasn't sure how successful he was. There had certainly been lapses, times when Thranduil laughed when he should've been scolding, or worse, even times when he had let himself be drawn into warg-hunting, or some of the twins' other schemes. Some of which Elrohir undoubtedly knew about. But Thranduil wasn't really worried that Elrohir would bring any of that up, or protest the punishment in anyway. Elrohir respected the chain of command; he'd commanded elves and Dunedain himself, as well as served as an officer in Imladris' guard.

However, he was not focused on the fact that he was in trouble. Either that, or he remembered that his cousin Thranduil could be easily distracted, by things that Thranduil found amusing.

"Did Theli really swing over an oliphaunt, Cousin Thranduil?" Elrohir asked, his gray eyes thoughtful, as they walked further away from the main camp.

"Um-hmm." Thranduil nodded an abstracted affirmative. At Elrohir's interested look, and since they weren't yet at their destination (where Thranduil had spent entirely too much time himself as a young soldier and even a young officer), Thranduil explained, "Theli was working as a healer and a soldier in your father's army, then. He and Guard Thenithol Moicasionchil, and four or five other soldiers, left their position guarding a siege engine to reinforce one of Imladris' platoons that was hard-pressed. It turned out that they had been lured away a-purpose, as the Enemy soldiers wheeled, revealing that their aim was to capture or destroy the siege engines, and the elves manning them. Amongst those elves were two ellith, engineers...Lady Ambaraxiel, and her student, Calmarille."

Elrohir's eyes widened, "Lord Fileg's wife Calmarille, whom Ada always complains that you stole from Imladris, after he didn't even succeed in stealing Theli?"

Thranduil's lips quirked into a smile, "Yes, my gwador Fileg's wife, now one of Greenwood's pre-eminent engineers. And your Adar started it, anyway, by offering Theli a place in his army against my wishes, and all common sense. In any case, Glorfindel put Theli on probation for using an oliphaunt's saddle as a place to tie his grappling hook, in order to take a short cut across the field of battle to get back to their post in time to save the engines and the engineers, even though it worked." Thranduil pointed out with a raised eyebrow, which made Elrohir blush.

Continuing, Thranduil pointed out, "If Theli had been with Greenwood's army at the time, even if he weren't a healer only pretending to be a soldier, he would have been sent home. However, Glorfindel chose differently, and..." Thranduil paused, remembering that he had wanted to ask someone about the curse words that Glorfindel had used, that he hadn't recognized. Elrohir was a bit of a student of languages, and shared a common interest with the King of Greenwood, and Theli, in the development of the ability to curse fluently in all languages. But then Thranduil remembered that he was supposed to punish Elrohir, not bond with him over a mutual interest in how best to give Sendoron and his contemporaries apoplectic fits by figuring out how to cast aspersions on their parentage and hygiene in Quenya and Quendya. So Thranduil sighed, and assumed a more serious expression, "But we're not here to talk about Theli. We're here to talk about your behavior today."

Elrohir winced, "Sorry, cousin Thranduil.I knew that I should have used signs to communicate that we should maybe provide a distraction, or later that I was going to follow Theli, and then waited for your order. But I didn't want Mithrandir to be hurt."

"Even your Daernaneth agrees that Mithrandir can take care of himself, Elrohir." Thranduil said gently, as he saw shadows in his young cousin's eyes. He also saw that Elrohir thought that this lecture was unfair, since he had already answered to his Captain, and he was also certain that he'd answer to his Adar Elrond upon his return to Imladris, and something about a likelihood that he'd be shoveling out stables under Glorfindel's direction when they got back to the Northern Hall.

Thranduil was sympathetic to Elrohir's point of view, but he wasn't going to change his mind about punishing his younger cousin. Elrohir's and Theli's little stunt had been entirely too egregious for Thranduil to just let it go with a scolding. As a matter of fact, the Aran made a mental note to offer Theli's services to Glorfindel, in respect of mucking out stables, de-sliming cesspit drains, and whatever other fun disciplinary tasks Elrond's creative Captain might have in mind. Bringing his mind back to the task at hand, Thranduil reflected that it was still...well, weird, to him, to be lecturing Elrond's children. It was, in fact, still shocking, but pleasantly so, that Elrond and Celebrian were not only married but had FIVE CHILDREN. And that at least three of them took after Thranduil, as Celebrian liked to joke. Thranduil was wont to say that Arwen might well take after him, but the twins were simultaneously at least twice the mischief that Thranduil had ever been, and at least twice as good at covering their tracks. Well, normally. Not this time, obviously. But first things first.

"How are you, 'Roh, really?" Thranduil asked his young cousin, affectionately but firmly.

"I'm fine." Elrohir quickly assured his cousin the Aran.

Thranduil sighed. "Mithrandir tells me that you have a headache, and Galad reported that you have some bruises. I heard what happened, in very brief detail, when you got back. Now what I want to know, is are you ok?" Thranduil asked sternly.

Elrohir's gray eyes gleamed wetly for a moment, but his voice was steady as he reported, "I'm ok. Not hurt, not really. One of the Enemy's servants questioned us, like Daernana will do, sometimes, but...much more clumsy, and less powerful."

"Hence, the headache." Thranduil concluded, his hand squeezing Elrohir's shoulder in affection and sympathy.

"Yeah," Elrohir agreed, "Or at least Mithrandir says, that's what the headache is from. It's not so bad, now, though."

"Go back to Mithrandir and the healers tomorrow, if it's not gone." Thranduil commanded.

Elrohir nodded, "I will. I know that folk messing about in my head is nothing to treat lightly. And Theli took the worst of it, anyway. He was really good at putting things in his mind, like that we were actually messengers who were lost and our horses were actually inside the fortress, and such."

"Theli is creative." Thranduil said wryly, before commenting sincerely, "And I am glad that he helped to keep you both safe. MIthrandir said that you killed the servant of the Enemy who was interrogating you both?"

Elrohir nodded, "He'd been questioning Theli, and then the bombs went off and he was distracted. I borrowed one of the guard's clubs, and knocked him down. Since they thought we were stupid drunk, either of us were tied up at that point, and it was a pretty much fair fight, so the yrch lost."

"And the other prisoners?" Thranduil asked, voice very gentle. Mithrandir had told him that Elrohir and Theli had had to give the coup d'grace to several merchants who had been captured by Sauron's minions while making their way through forest.

Elrohir's handsome face clenched in pain, and he took a deep breath before meeting Thranduil's eyes. "Over half of them were dead. Of the three who were still alive, all were....a terrible mess. I didn't know that anyone could be in so much pain, so wrecked, and live."

Thranduil pulled the slightly protesting Elrohir into his arms, waiting a few seconds until Elrohir was collapsed against his shoulder, sobbing softly. Thranduil cradled his young cousin in his arms, and murmured reassuringly, "I'm so sorry that such evil was going on in a place that I used to call home, and that I was not able to stop it, until now. I am sorry that you had to see it, and sorry that Theli felt the only thing to do was to give those suffering souls a swift, painless death. But I do not think you need to blame yourself for acting so, Elrohir. There was nothing else that you could have done. They were beyond help, and in any case not capable to escape."

Thranduil gently tugged Elrohir, still silently crying, to sit beside him on a large boulder beside the stream. After a dozen minutes or so, Elrohir calmed himself. An arm still around his younger cousin, Thranduil assured Elrohir, "You are not in trouble for that. In fact, I am proud of how cleverly, capably, and compassionately you and Theli both acted, once you had chosen to separate yourselves from the group and make a diversion. What are you in trouble for, eh, little cousin?"

Straightening his shoulders, Elrohir admitted, "instigating such a diversion without your permission, and without giving notice as to our plan."

Thranduil nodded, pressing a fond kiss to the younger elf's forehead, "Aye, that, although I would have also accepted running straight into the arms of yrch without having any such orders." Considering the stoically pathetic Elrohir, Thranduil wondered aloud, "What am I to do with you?" Thranduil hardened his heart; he had to at least make an impression. Thranduil's wife Minaethiel was worried about Thranduil, someday, with an elfling more like himself as a child. Thalion, their adult fosterling, had generally been a well-behaved, rule-abiding child. Yet, being the elf who made the rules (well, the King anyway) really hadn't made Thranduil that much more a fan of rules. For instance, what Theli and Elrhoir had done had given Thranduil heart failure. It could easily have cost them both their lives; it could have jeopardized the mission, if they'd been less believable in their lies, or the yrch had been cleverer. Some commanders, some Kings, would have refused to ever take Theli or Elrohir on a mission of such importance again, for that reason. But not Thranduil. Oh, he'd certainly think twice about whether he, and the relevant mission objectives, could take the surprise, the...potential for independent, unilateral action, that involving Theli and Elrohir had entailed. But the two young elves' distraction had been clever enough to work. And Thranduil was ruler enough, King enough, that he'd use them again if he needed to, despite the likelihood that they'd do something to get themselves killed. And, it was something that Thranduil might have done, if he hadn't of been in command, and if he'd thought of it. And, Thranduil had a hard time being a hypocrite, especially when the antics in question had amused him.

But Thranduil had come entirely too close today, to losing Elrohir- and Theli - so he didn't feel too bad, about what he was going to do.

Thranduil bestowed another fatherly kiss on the brow of the still pathetically stoic Elrohir, before commanding him, "Go cut a switch, pen-neth."

Elrohir winced, but went do do as Thranduil had bid with no other protest. Within a few minutes' time, he had brought back a suitable switch, made of a branch of the nearby willow tree.

Thranduil nodded his approval, but put the switch carefully aside so that he could reach it again from his position, seated on the boulder.

"Cousin," He commanded Elrohir, "Leggings down, and over my lap."

Elrohir unhappily obeyed, wincing, and letting out one moan of discomfort or embarrassment as Thranduil arranged the younger elf naked over his lap, in such a position as to facilitate a firm spanking followed by a switching.

Resting his hand for a moment gently on Elrohir's lower back, Thranduil patted him twice, in reassurance, before beginning to spank Elrohir in earnest with his other hand. Elrohir winced as the first firm swats struck his bottom, but he made no other noise, nor did Thranduil expect him to. He knew the younger elf to be somewhat of a stoic. Thranduil's hand continued falling, from the top of Elrohir's well rounded bottom to the tops of his thighs, as Thranduil reflected that the part-elves really were a bit more muscular than their purely elven kin, and that it was a good thing that strong, champion-wrestler Elrohir had conceded the necessity of this lessoning himself, as while Thranduil probably could have enforced this lesson without Elrohir's cooperation, it might have been a challenge. Thranduil ended the warm up spanking fairly quickly, as he could still see the lingering color and feel the warmth on Elrohir's bottom from the swift lesson that Glorfindel had imparted before the party had left Dol Guldur.

Thranduil moved his hand gently to stroke Elrohir's back, and Elrohir's hair, "Easy, cousin," He told the younger elf, who was fighting back tears, "We are almost done. Twelve with the switch, and then one more, to remind you to listen and communicate with the elf in command."

"Yes, Cousin, Aran," Elrohir gasped, swallowing back sobs.

Thranduil picked up the discarded switch, and brought it down once with medium force upon the fullest part of Elrohir's bottom. Elrohir flinced. Thranduil continued the switching, flicking the switch with carefully controlled strength onto Elrohir's bottom twice more, before turning to his sit spots. Two flicks of the switch across Elrohir's sit spots, and then two lines with the switch applied to the younger elf's thighs. At that last, Elrohir cried out, and Thranduil took a moment to pat his back gently, and reassure him, "Nearly done, cousin. And there is no shame in crying out. I would never think less of you, for that."

Then Thranduil applied the switch another half dozen times, flicking the switch down between the lines of fire he'd left descending Elrohir's bottom. Elrohir was sobbing quietly now, flinching and yelping at each application of the switch.

"Last one, little cousin, muin nin," Thranduil reassured, before flicking the switch down firmly one last time on Elrohir's sit spots, overlapping two former strikes.

Elrohir hollered loudly, and leaped to his feet, Thranduil helping him to do so without tripping over anything.

Standing mostly naked in the clearing by the stream, Elrohir managed to say, "Remind me not to disobey orders in Greenwood again, cousin."

Thranduil chuckled sympathetically, and then allowed Elrohir a few minutes to gather his composure, and re-dress, before they returned to their campsite.

Thranduil sat down beside Rochendil, and pulled Elrohir carefully down to recline against himself. Elrond's young son put up no protest, so Thranduil thought his instinct to keep the younger elf close tonight, while his closer family and friends were dealing with injuries amongst their number, was a good one.

Soon, Theli rejoined them, his eyes red. Thranduil noticed with no surprise that Theli was also not moving swiftly, and seemed to be in some discomfort.

After all, Elrohir, curled up against Thranduil, was in a similar state to Theli, although not moving quite so stiffly. Thranduil expected that Linwe might have added to Theli's punishment, for Theli having argued the point.

Linwe squeezed Theli's shoulder as if to reassure the younger elf that all was welll between them now, and then went to sit beside Thranduil.

Theli checked on his cousin Haldir again, while Galad murmured that he'd already re-checked him. Apparently satisfied with Haldir's healing, Theli went to sit between the injured, sleeping Haldir and Fileg.

Rochendil went to kneel beside Theli for a moment, saying something too quiet for Thranduil to hear. Whatever it was made Theli shrink into himself a bit, and nod mutely. At that, Rochendil shook Theli's s houlders gently, told him something that made him straighten a bit, and came back to his place beside Thranduil.

Thranduil looked up as his General cleared his throat, and inquired, "Hmm?" Even though he knew what Rochendil wanted, and he didn't really want to have the argument again.

Rochendil snorted softly, before complaining, "You're not going to let me expel him from the military, are you, Aran-nin."

Thranduil remained quiet for several moments, thinking. Theli's career as a soldier had begun just as Thranduil's had been about to end. Out of amusement, mostly, Thranduil when he'd been a Prince and a lieutenant in Rochendil's army, had agreed to tutor the young healer Theli in swordplay. Later, Thranduil became King, and Theli took what he'd learned from Thranduil, and convinced Glorfindel and Elrond that he knew enough to fight in their army. Again, horrifying, but rather clever, and at some level...Theli's military career was because of Thranduil. Theli sometimes reminded Thranduil of who he might have become, if he'd been just any elf. Oh, not a healer, but a warrior, and the type to make things happen when it was needful, regardless of rank.

Rochendil had suggested expelling Theli from the army once before, and Thranduil had argued that he'd once come up with simialrly all-or-nothing plans, and acted on them without approval. Rochndil had said that yes, Thranduil had done so, but only when he had the excuse of youth. Theli had reached an age and rank that Thranduil had never had a chance to reach as a soldier, before his father's death during the war had made him King. Additionally, Rochendil had pointed out, the Army and Thranduil's commanding officers had enjoyed the full support of Thranduil's family, where as Theli's family wasn't in the picture. Thranduil reflected that this was the second time that Theli had almost gotten himself killed under Thranduil's direct command, and that the first time, Thranduil would have risked Theli, if Theli had asked. But Theli didn't, even thoguh he was fairly certain the Aran would have said yes. And Theli had done that, to spare Thranduil pain. Now, when Theli wasn't sure whether Thranduil would have approved a distraction to protect Gandalf, he simply didn't ask. Not something that Thranduil could let go with a slip on the wrist. But not, in Thranduil's opinion, worth permanently losing a clever and capable young officer over.

"Thranduil, Aran-nin, I would discharge Theli honorably, on the grounds that he's served well, and that we have concerns over his on-going health issues and, ah, listening skills and self-preservation abilities. Aran-nin, I don't suggest this because I dislike Ecthelion. On the contrary, I'm rather fond of him, in no small part because he sometimes reminds me of you, and your young cousin Coruthelion as well. However, I think he's going to get himself killed someday, and I am willing to cause him the pain of taking his military career away, to prevent that. I'm not even picky about how we expel him. We can dismiss him on the grounds that the healers need him more, Master nestorion would certainly be willing to assert that."

As Thranduil stayed silent, letting Rochendil make his case, the General continued, "Ecthelion is a brave soldier and a good ellon, I told him as much again just now, but things like this...I do not like that he does things like this, my elfling. Nor was this the first time that he acted on an impulse without thought for his own safety. It's more like the tenth, or twelfth. And if the siege is over, I don't need him, and others like him, as much as we did before."

"His idea worked," Thranduil pointed out quietly, "And, really, of the prior incidences, many occurred when he was newly a soldier, and the whole "warg traps" fiasco was really a breakdown in communication as much as it was Theli's impetuosity."

Rochendil, ignoring the diversion about the "warg traps" as not relevant, sternly asked the Aran, "do we really need to have this conversation again, my dear elfling? Theli's on-the-spot plan worked, this time. You of all people know that just becaue you're smart and lucky and capable, doesn't mean that the dice are always goign to roll your way on these high-stakes gambles."

Thranduil, shrugging, admitted, "Well, you were right. I'm not going to let you expel him from the military. Not for this, at least."

Nodding unhappily, Rochendil replied, "I suspected as much, Aran nin, my elfling. That is why I told Theli to come to my office, when he is due for his next shift. Linwe and I spoke. We're putting Ecthelion on training duties for the next month, and then I'm planning to suspend him for a dozen years starting when one of Linwe's lieutenants is promoted at the end of this month.

Thranduil nodded pensively, "That's what you did, after he jumped off the cliff so the yrch would fall down it behind him?"

Rochendil nodded, " Aye. And Linwe had few problems with Theli, for the next two yeni. The dozen years suspension seemed to make an impact, at least. Eru knows nothing else has, with Ecthelion, not even extra yeni in grade, or demoting him."

Thranduil nodded again, this time in assent, "Very well. You have my full support, for suspending him. Thranduil did not want to lose Theli - but he feared that expelling Theli from the military would make them lose Theli entirely. Thranduil knew something of how Theli's thought processes, such as they are, work. If Theli couldn't protect Greenwood in Grenwood's military, then he had other options. And he wasn't tied to Greenwood as solidly as Thranduil would prefer him to be. Theli had no family here, only friends and mentors. And he had another mentor in Imladris, Elrond. More, Theli's only blood family in any of the elven kingdoms were his three cousins in Lothlorien. Celeborn in Lothlorien wouldn't happily take Theli, but Galadriel could be so ruthless, as a ruler, that she made Elrond and Thranduil seem like fuzzy bunnies. Galadriel might well take Theli into Lothlorien's miltiary in some capacity, either over Celeborn's objection, by bargaining that chip for something else, or just without metnionng to Celborn for a couple of yeni. And, even if Lothlorien would not accept Theli into its military, Imladris would. Elrond was Theli's other mentor as a healer, and Elrond and Glorfindel had already shown their willingness to accept Theli as a soldier, too. And some part of Thranduil shied away from the idea of having Elrond's twin sons, Theli, and sometimes Arwen all in the same military. it just seemed like asking the Valar for trouble. With that in mind, Thranduil caught Theli's eye, and winked reassuringly at him.

One of Thranduil's soldiers brought around food, which Thranduil woke Elrohir enough to eat. Across the fire, Thranduil noted with a faint frown that Theli was only picking at his food.

"I have chocolate," Fileg announced, from his place beside Theli, "But it's only for elves who eat their dinners." Theli laughed, and did justice to the rest of his plate, while Fileg broke a large piece of chocolate into enough pieces for all of the elves and Mithrandir to have a mouthful.

Thranduil noticed that Fileg offered the largest two pieces of chocolate to Elrohir and Theli, probably with the intention of taking their mind off of their sore and sorry state. Thranduil suppressed a smile at the gesture, while Linwe rolled his eyes, and Vea shook his head with an tolerant expression.

Fileg then put a comradely arm around Theli, pulling the younger elf against his shoudler, and murmuring something soft and reassuring that made Theli chuckle. Thranduil was rather surprised at the openly affectionate gesture, though he knew that Fileg tolerated Theli's irrepressible nature with amusement, rather than the tolerant resignation which characterized Veassen's attitude towards Thranduil's young friend and healer, and Linwe's part-time Lieutenant. And Fileg had, from time to time, gotten involved peripherally in one or another venture of Theli's. But thranduil himself was suffused with joy and good will at their victory. Laying contentedly against Rochnedil's shoulder, with Elrohir mostly asleep in his lap, Thranduil decided that it was a good thing that Fileg was cheering Theli, as no one who had helped to bring about this day, when the trees finally felt relief after a thousand years, deserved to be unhappy. At least not until they got back to the Northern Hall, where there were stables that needed cleaning in anticipation and other scut work to be done for the grand celebration Thranduil was already planning. Maybe he and Minaethiel would even beget an elfling, the Aran thought wistfully. Now that the shadow was gone, many dreams were possible.

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and all of the elves went about their chores of breaking camp and readying to ride with smiles and cheery song. Even Theli and Elrohir, who were still moving a bit stiffly.

Thranduil pulled the two aside, handing them a small pot of salve, "Here. Use it, but don't use it up."

"Thanks, cousin Thrani." Elrohir said with sincere gratitude.

"Are you sure?" Theli asked, deep-blue eyes wide with uncertainty, "Galad offered, but I don't know if Captain Linwe would approve..."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "It's fine, Theli, and in the future, when Galad was there to witness what occurred, and he offers you salve, it is acceptable to take it, without further pestering Linwe. If he hadn't wanted you to have any, he would have told you that explicitly, and probably also told Galad."

Theli nodded in agreement, and the two younger elves disappeared for a few minutes, only to reappear and give Thranduil back his pot of salve.

Elrohir looked like he wanted to ask the question that was on both of their minds, but it was Theli who ended up doing so, "Aran-nin, what is it you have done, that you asked us to make sure not to use up what was left?"

Thranduil pretended to be offended, and said haughtily, "I didn't do anything, Theli. But sometimes I get blamed for things that just happen."

Theli smiled shyly, "that happens to me sometimes, too. Not...not yesterday, but sometimes."

Elrohir nodded officiously, "And to Elladan and I, as well."

Snorting, Thranduil disagreed, "No, Elrohir. You and Elladan are the things that happen to other elves, as much as I love you both."

Thranduil was saddling his horse and having a last minute chat with Rochendil and the scouts about their route for the day, when Gandalf approached them, not bothering to hide a smile.

"Aran Thranduil," he chided gently, "The strangest thing happened during the night. Evidently, a bear somewhow got past our scouts, and drooled a large amount of partially regurgitated honey onto my colleague Saruman's beard."

Rochendil gave Thranduil a look, and Thranduil did his best to suppress his amusement, "Really?' Thranduil commented blandly, "that is a fascinating coincidence, Mithrandir. I warned Saruman that there was a hungry bear about when the trees told me of her. Perhaps, if Saruman had slept outside with the rest of us, the bear would have been scared away by your snoring. As it was, I suppose Middle Earth- and Saruman- are just lucky that the bear evidently found Saruman's appearance unappetizing."

Gandalf's eyes were still twinkling as he commented, "Hmm. Saruman and his servants have decided to part ways from us here."

"A Pity.," Thranduil said neutrally, " I'm sure that we'll all miss his joie de vivre and camraderie."

Rochendil, disappointed but fighting amusement, said softly, "Oh, Thranduil."

 

Epilogue, mid-summer of 3019

Aragorn was amused by the story, which his brothers had never told him, but even more delighted by the sight of the normally-restrained Faramir, laughing so hard that tears were coming out of his eyes.

Gasping with merriment, Faramir managed to declare, "Oh, your story- and Elrohoir -definitely win, Legolas."

Elrohir was giving Legolas a dark look, but it was leavened by his pleasure at Faramir's, and Frodo's, evident amusement.

Gimli, looking as if he wasn't sure whether to be amused or appalled. " I should say so. Standing inside the Enemy's evil fortress, and saying, "This isn't where I left my horse," may indeed be one of the most foolish things I've ever heard of...only after surfing down an liphaunt, of course!"

Legolas laughingly objected, as Aragorn regarded Gimli with a fond but somewhat mischevious gleam in his eyes, perhaps thinking about tossing a certain dwarf over a gorge at Helm's deep, though the King kept his peace.

Gandalf, smiling because even Frodo was laughing, put in "Elrohir's and Theli's antics weren't exactly funny at the time, although I must admit that the incident is quite funny, in retrospect"

Gimli, chuckling and shaking his head, remarked, "I think your sense of humor must be better than mine, Wizard. By the way, who is that lunatic, who has Elladan so hot under the collar?"

Elladan's eyes narrowed, as Legolas, laughing, asked "who, Theli?"

"Aye, him." Gimli nodded.

"Theli is an utter lunatic, who is in no way anything like myself, save that he is also, technically, a healer and a warrior, although he spends most of his time suspended from the Aran's army for foolish stunts, and much of his time as a healer researching to find answers to questions which are probably unanswerable."

"Ah," said Gimli wisely, "So you dislike yon Theli because he is entirely too much like yourself. Weren't you saying just the other day that you wanted to ride an oliphaunt?"

"He is NOTHING LIKE ME!" Elladan protested, uncharacteristically emphatic, before stopping to more calmly state, "why yes, I do want to ride an oliphaunt."

Then a pleasantly contemplative look came over Elladan's face, which prompted Aragorn to admonish sharply, "No, you are not going to Mordor, Harad or Khand to find an oliphaunt, just because you deem "Little Estel's" government to be in better enough shape that I can spare you. And if you do go off on such a jaunt, I'm telling Adar, cousin Thranduil, and Daernana."

Elladan and Elrohir both frowned at the King of Men. "You're not our favorite younger sibling right now, Estel-nin." Elladan scolded Aragorn.

"I can live with that." Aragorn said dryly, before prompting the group to make ready for dimming the fire, and setting night watches.

Aragorn reflected with satisfaction that it was pleasant to lie under the stars in Ithilien again, with a warm bedroll between himself and the ground. It was lovely to be lulled to sleep by the sound of the wind in the trees, and the night birds calling, and the water of the stream rushing nearby. Life was just about perfect, save that soon enough, their hobbit friends would be leaving for their shire home. Which was as it should be, but that Aragorn felt in his soul the disappointment of having let Frodo down. Frodo would never fully heal, and going home in such a state would be hard on him, and his companions. The King had offered to have a company go and scout the shire, to make sure it hadn't quietly become an unsafe place in which to live. But their hobbit companions had said no, that they felt a call to return now. And so they would.

As Aragorn heard the soft sound of Frodo waking in a nightmare, and being soothed by Faramir and Gandalf. And Aragorn reflected on the other reason that he wasn't ready to see the hobbits go, besides missing their companionship and fresh perspectives. Frodo was their emotiaonl cryptography key to Faramir. In truth, their only one. Not Imrahil, though there was no doubt that Aragorn's old friend the Prince of Dol Amroth was very fond of his nephew, and the Steward held Imrahil in similarly high regard. But only Frodo knew how to draw Faramir out of his shell, and with Frodo gone, Aragorn would be well and truly and hopelessly lost, when it came to reading how his young steward was truly doing (unless he cheated and pried, which he hated to do).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have another story, this same story from Elrohir's POV, plus what happens the rest of the way to Greenwood with Celeborn, and at Greenwood, in progress. I'd be interested to know if people would be interested in reading it, and what they'd be most interested in. Thanks!


	8. Not My Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly-made Prince of the Greenwood is not looking forward to his first Yule in the Greenwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Thank you to Emma and Kaylee for letting me borrow your Original Character, Luthavar. Please note that this story does not portray anything that actually happens in Emma and Kaylee's series, please instead consider it an AU of their AU which they've been kind enough to let me play with. Thanks again to Emma and Kaylee for reading this over and catching some mistakes! 
> 
> A/N 2: Set in the mid-second Age, just before the first Yuletide following Oropher's coronation as King of the Greenwood. Thranduil is thirteen years old, about the equivalent of a five year old human child.

A young dark-haired elf approached a large old growth tree, jaunty red and gray silk scarves flutteing from the neckline and waist of his smartly tailored black tunic. He stopped to peer up at an elfling well hidden in the upper limbs of a tree. The youth was barely able to see the sprite at first, despite the wavy golden locks which should have given the child away immediately. 

"Adar Rhiw doesn't deliver presents to elflings in trees, Thranduil." Luthavar the youngest elder said with bemused good cheer. Then he paused, tilting his head thoughtfully, before adding, "At least not that I have ever heard of. Please, won't you come down, so that we may help you to celebrate the end of the year?" 

"No! I won't! This isn't my home!" Thranduil yelled down, more in anguish than in anger. 

Luthavar sighed, his dark eyes filling with sympathy. "I'll climb up, then." He began to do so with ease. Luthavar was a wood elf too, after all. He hadn't climbed trees in a good long while, he much preferred haggling, flirting with pretty girls, and ledgers, but he could remember how to lcimb. 

"Don't want you here." Thranduil rejected sullenly, climbing a branch or two higher himself. 

"Any further, elfling, and we will be having a talk which you will not like!" Luthavar snapped, rather surprised at himself. He was far from the authoritative type, except perhaps with respect to the merchants and matters of trade which he was in charge of regulating. But if Thranduil climbed much higher, he would put himself in danger of falling and hurting himself, and Luthavar found that he did have a stern voice in him, for that. 

Thranduil made a face and called Luthavar "ick," but he did stop climbing. Luthavar pulled himself up to another branch, just a yard or two from Thranduil, and then he got his bright scarf caught on a small branchlet. Luthavar choked before regretfully ripping the expensive scarf just enough to free himself. 

Thranduil giggled. Luthavar glared at him. It was one thing to not want an adult elf to pursue you into in a tree when you were having a good sulk, but it was quite enough to take amusement in the sartorial misfortunes of your unwanted rescuer! 

The young elfling had the decency to pick up on some of that, it seemed. "You should untie your pretty scarves and let them fall. They won't rip floating away, and we can just get them on the way down." Thranduil paused. "Well, you can. I'm not coming down." 

Luthavar cursed under his breath and unbound the elegant knots affixing the scarves to his outfit. Sadly, he watched them flutter downward, one making it all the way to the leaf-blown ground. 

"I can help you wash them." Thranduil offered. 

Luthavar resumed climbing with a snort of good humor. "You'll help me wash them? From up in the tree, eh?" 

"Oh. Well, I guess you could climb up here and bring them, and and then I'll make sure that they dry." 

Taking a seat on the wide, high branch beside the elfling, Luthavar nodded wisely. "That would take us back to the original problem, in many ways, but it is a kind offer nonetheless." 

Thranduil wrinkled his nose at that but made no other reply. Luthavar just offered silent company for a time, relaxing under the murmur of the ever green leaves and the rushing wind. One could see the whole new palace of Amon Lanc from their position in the tree, as well as a good part of the town. Thranduil's eyes moved to take in a pair of hawks racing through the air. 

"Elder Lavaneth says that they may mate, come the spring." Luthavar commented lightly. 

Thranduil's blue eyes lit up. "Would there be fledglings?" 

The young elder's dark eyes sparkled, "I don't know. There might be. I'm surprised that you ask. You seem unhappy here." 

Thranduil bit his lip, and kicked his small foot against another branch. "I'd like to see baby hawks. I'd like to watch them learn how to fly and hunt and become big hawks." 

Luthavar just listened. It wasn't his best skill, but he needed it for his work, and he cared about Thranduil's happiness. The wood had essentially stolen the life that the child and his family would have had, moved them from a hawk's nest into a bee's royal chamber. 

After a few moments, the elfling continued, "It's just not fair!" He kicked the branch again, "We were so happy here, before! I love the forest and the trees and all the animals and you're-not-so-bad-I-guess...." 

"Thank you." Luthavar replied gravely, though his dark eyes twinkled with amusement. 

"But I don't like MY Adar being KING!" Thranduil yelled at last. "Even before that, I didn't know if Adar Rhiw could even find us here, in this new place. And eveb that was alright then because even if he couldn't we were together and it was nice here. But now Ada barely has time for me and Nana is always dressed in these fancy, stiff robes covered in spiky things...." 

"Priceless jewels are not fun to hug." Luthavar agreed. 

Thranduil sniffed. "No. And now there will be no Adar Rhiw and no presents for Yule. Nothing but boring ceremonies where I have to sit straight and still, and barely see my Ada." 

"They're having the ceremonies after you go to bed." Luthavar pointed out kindly, "And your father and mother have told everyone who asked that they have a more important obligation earlier that evening, one that lasts from around the time I would suppose that you eat lunch, until around the time elflings twice your age should already be a bed." 

"Hpmh." Thranduil said, crossing his arms in thought. 

"And I do think that Adar Rhiw will be able to find you." Luthavar said, just as thoughtful. "He found me during my first Yule in the Greenwood, even though I'd never been there before." 

"Really?" Asked Thranduil, wide-eyed and hopeful. 

"Truly." Luthavar confirmed, "And I'd never before gotten a gift from Adar Rhiw, so I was incredulous and then very, very happy." 

Thranduil considered Luthavar with sympathy and curiosity. "Never a gift from Adar Rhiw before? Were you truly that naughty?" 

Luthavar laughed. "Nay, I was not so very naughty. Well, actually, I was, but that isn't why I didn't get a gift. It's a long story, but I can promise you, Thranduil, that Adar Rhiw brings presents to all the children of the Greenwood, and that you are just as much a child of the Greenwood as any of us." 

Thranduil managed a tremulous smile. "Then I guess I should climb down, and, um, find...." The elfling blinked and thought for a moment, "I'm not sure who was supposed to be watching me." He confessed, "And whoever it was, my Ada is going to be mad with me. I'm not to..." Thranduil trailed off and waved a hand. 

Luthavar took that to mean that the elfling Prince hadn't been supposed to have done any of the activities which he'd spent the afternoon doing. "I'll accompany you." Luthavar offered graciously. And bravely. The King wasn't noted for his patience, and he didn't seem to find Luthavar particularly impressive. Luthavar mentally shrugged. He knew that he was quite a fine elf despite his flaws. The King's poor opinion of Luthavar saddened him but didn't really impinge on his own sense of self-worth. 

Thranduil was obviously worried as they walked back towards the palace. Luthavar took pains to jolly and bolster the elfling with talk of what he might want for Yule, and how even the most stern and angry seeming of fathers truly love their elflings and only want what is best for them. And would not hold a grudge during Yule, at least not after discussing the bad behavior, whatever unfortunate form that discussion might take. And that even the most firm of parents would not stop Adar Rhiw from bringing presents. 

Sooner than either Thranduil or Luthavar would have liked, they came across the King himself. 

"Ada!" Thranduil yelped with joy, running to his father and being swung up into Oropher's arms, even as he was being scolded for having run off again. 

Oropher managed to offer Luthavar a half-hearted and slightly bewildered thank-you, while still holding Thranduil tightly in his arms. 

"Of course." Luthavar replied with a gracious nod for the new Aran. Then he smiled at Thranduil, "I do look forward to meeting this fine puppy which is your one and only wish for Yule, Prince Thranduil. I am sure that he will keep you good company when your royal parents' attention is required elsewhere." 

Thranduil grinned and thanked Luthavar. Oropher's green eyes regarded Luthavar with renewed disfavor. Luthavar just smiled cheekily and then wished them both a good day. As he turned to leave, his crimson scarf fluttered behind him jauntily in the wind. He'd managed to tie it so that it looked suave and fashionable, and so that the little hole in the silk was hidden in the knot.


	9. Temper, and Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little ficlet inspired by a speculative spoiler about Thranduil and Legolas being at odds at some point during the later movies, which made me wonder why that might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story takes place in the King's Hall in Greenwood, but it is set around the time in "The Hobbit" when Gandalf, the dwarves and Bilbo Baggins are in Imladris, taking council with Elrond. Theli is my OC, he's in others of my stories posted on AO3.

"Did you trip?" Theli asked, dabbing ointment on a cut on his Prince's face. 

"No." Legolas denied, gritting his teeth at the slight pain and the greater sting of the powerful unguent. 

"Sorry." Theli offered, even though he really wasn't. The joys of being the most junior royal healer did sometimes include getting woken in the middle of the night to tend to a battered Greenwood royal, but that did NOT usually mean being startled into wakefulness by a sheepish heir to the throne at two in the morning. 

"So," the healer began again, determined to get to the truth of this matter, "You and your father were at it again- don't gape at me, ernil-nin, everyone in the Hall knows that, you weren't exactly being quiet." 

"Adar was." Legolas murmured, resentful and fighting hard not to be. 

Theli softened slightly. "Yes, he does tend to ice rather than rage, at times." Fixing Legolas with a stern look as he moved on to another cut on the Prince's shoulder, Theli continued, "So one of you decided it would be a bright idea to spar..." 

"That part was mutual." Legolas offered. After a moment, he sighed, and added, "We had a few spare hours. We often do spar, of a third day eve. Normally, it is good...tonight, we had already argued, and there were....sharp edges." 

"But none that would cut you like this." Theli countered. He was a soldier as well as a healer, and Legolas had once been under his command. The Prince was a graceful and talented fighter, and skilled for his age. Lithe like a cat and light like a bird, Legolas was unlikely to trip, and Thranduil was unlikely to hurt his son. Even if Legolas had dodged when Thranduil expected him to duck, the King probably could have - and would have- pulled his blow. No matter how angry he was. 

"Father won. He ALWAYS does." Legolas murmured, sadly resigned. 

Theli sighed, seeing for a moment the dedicated young elf who always strove to be the heir his father needed. Thranduil could be a hard act to follow, although Legolas had his strengths as well. Many of them. Ecthelion would far, far rather bring unwelcome news to Legolas, in fact. Oh, he'd want the King apprised of it. Thranduil was brilliant when he applied himself to a problem, if cuttingly so. But the King's greatest flaw was probably his temper, in Theli's opinion. And Legolas had riled that, and royally so, this evening. In Theli's village they would have called it 'poking the bear.' He thought that perhaps he should caution his Prince about how to go about managing the King's moods, but the truth of it was that Legolas was normally far better at that than Theli. And the young Prince seemed to have already realized that he had bungled the matter badly. 

Seeing how despondent Legolas was, Theli tried to cheer him. "Don't be discouraged, tithen-Las. After all, your father is one of the most skilled swordsman of this age. Losing to him is no shame." Somehow that didn't seem to have the desired effect, so Theli offered bracingly, "If it's any comfort, I think that you may be a better archer than he." 

That startled Legolas into a laugh. Theli smiled back, and pressed, "So, what sharp edge cut into your cheek, and your shoulder, and your side, then, hmm?" Theli really hoped for an answer. He didn't want to have to go to Master Healer Nestorion, or worse yet, the King, and tattle. But he would, if he had to. As a general matter, Legolas' safety was something which Theli valued more highly than the Prince's right to privacy. 

Legolas blushed. "I, umm, threw a practice sword at the wall." Theli stared at him, bemused and appalled. 

"It, umm, bounced. So I threw it again, harder." Legolas continued, "Then...sparks, and chips of stone wall and chipped sword flew at me. In short, it wasn't the brightest way to vent my temper I've ever found." The Prince concluded lamely. 

Theli opened his mouth, and then closed it again. For a moment he wasn't sure what to say. And then, because this was Legolas and not Thranduil and Legolas had a better sense of humor about these things, Theli said what popped into his head, "Does throwing things when matters don't go your way run in your family?" 

"What?" Legolas replied, confused. "No. I mean, Adar doesn't, and I can't imagine Thalion ever. And I can't remember Nana or Thandrin or the twins ever throwing things when they didn't get their way." 

"Mmm." Theli said, in part because he did remember very vividly Thandrin's youthful tantrums, and even Lithidhren's rarer but in some ways more dramatic histrionics. But mostly because he remembered his young King having thrown healing potions back at him, on more than one occasion. Once, Thranduil's doing so had actually revealed a long-running prank of Theli's, which had been unfortunate in many ways, although it had succeeded in putting the King in a much better mood. 

Legolas eyed his healer and sometimes-sergeant, intrigued by Theli's evasion. But then his forest-green eyes darkened again, and he whispered painfully, "I don't like dwarves, either. Not generally. But this time, he's WRONG, Theli." 

Theli should have just said, "Mmm" again. He knew that he should have. But he owed Legolas almost as much as he owed Thranduil. More, in some ways. And Theli had never been good at failing to speak his mind. 

"Between you, me, and the chipped wall and sword, I think so too, Legolas." Theli replied instead, "But now isn't the time to tell him so. Elrond, Galadriel, and probably even Celeborn are all telling our Aran what they think he should do, and you know as well as I that Thranduil HATES that." Theli had gotten himself banished over having told Thranduil what to do, once. Just to Lothlorien and it was really more of an exile, but it had been memorable, all the same. Now Theli did his best to keep a hold of his tongue, around Thranduil, even though he loved his King and rather thought of the great elf as a friend as well as leader. 

"I know that, I do." Legolas began, before becoming distracted by a thought, "Oh, and not Celeborn." 

"No?" Theli frowned. 

"No. Evidently my cousin of the Golden Wood hates dwarves. A lot. Some historic matter." 

Theli shrugged, a vulgar habit he'd picked up from spending too much time amongst humans. Celeborn was both great and fair, but Theli knew well that he could be a bit difficult when he had it in his mind that he didn't like someone, or something. "But still, Legolas. Having Galadriel write your father at all is usually enough to put the King in a mood for at least part of a day. And to have Elrond, whom he normally counts a friend as well as kinsman, have agreed with her, and for them both to be sticking their noses into what Thranduil views, quite reasonably, as none of their affair....Legolas, by the forest spirits, GIVE HIM A FEW DAYS before you go about advocating him helping the Wizard's exiled dwarven friends. 

Legolas raised his chin, determined and seeming almost lit from within by his faith in the rightness of his cause. "You don't like having a dragon for a neighbor, either, Theli. And you especially don't like the constant threat that it poses to the men of Esgaroth. They were our allies, once, and even the dwarves were, well..." 

"Not 'completely neutral,' but at least once or twice, like so in our favor?" Theli offered, a flicker of a smile moving across his face as he remembered a large mine car full of rocks having once fallen on top of a troll. 

"Yes, that." Legolas agreed. "And if even a HALFLING is going to face the dragon, as Elrohir says, then I can't see why we elven warriors of the Greenwood shouldn't offer some succor, as well. To guide them through the forest, at least. Otherwise their 'noble quest' is going to end in a spider's belly." 

Theli shrugged again. He agreed, but matters of state were beyond him. 

"You're supposed to be one of Adar's advisors, Theli." Legolas gently reproved. 

Theli wondered how this less than 500 hundred year old child could possibly have grown so old, and so noble, so fast. But still... "Legolas, give it a few days, at least. Better yet, a few weeks." 

"But we may not have the time!" Legolas protested, "The patrols nearest Esgaroth must be notified, and the borders watched. And besides..." 

Theli snorted. "Do you know how long it takes to travel from Imladris to our borders?" 

Legolas paused, and then threw out a number. Mathematically, if one were to presuppose an elf who knew where he was going, it wasn't a bad guess. 

"Add at least two weeks to that." Theli suggested, "Dwarves have short legs. And given the halfling, perhaps another week. If Mithrandir gets distracted, then add a month." And Mithrandir could get very distracted, that Theli knew from experience. 

"Oh." Legolas sighed in relief. "There should be time, then." 

"Yes." Theli agreed, "There should be time." And if there wasn't, he hoped for the strength and patience to deal with his King and his Prince, who had been quite a trial since they'd begun lately to take different sides on 'the human question.' Theli couldn't entirely blame Thranduil - some human had almost certainly been responsible for telling the Enemy's creatures where to find their Queen and Thranduil's older heirs, at the end of the Watchful Peace. And some human had most likely been responsible for the smaller-scale disaster which had put an end to the formal alliance between the humans of Long Lake and the Elves of the Wood. 

But if Thranduil was going to stake his arguments on the past and his pique, however justified, then Legolas was going to continue to lobby against that. Greenwood could become very loud, and strained. Not divided, though, not for most. Legolas was a promising young officer and a dutiful, calm, reassuring heir, but Thranduil was the warrior King who had held the Greenwood through almost two thousand years of siege. But for Theli personally...he was Thranduil's elf, yes. But he was Legolas' elf, too. And he was a bit afraid of the position that might put him in, if matters unfolded as he feared rather than as he hoped. 

But that was not this night's worry. Theli put his prince to bed with a healing draught that should also bring sleep, and more reassurances that all would be better in the morning. For his own part, Theli sought out the practice hall which Legolas had abandoned. He picked up the heaviest of the practice blades, and began to move through the most complicated routine he thought he could handle. Theli was a better healer than a fighter, but perhaps it was time, again, to consider being both.


	10. Erynion Lightning-Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four dwarves, three elves, and three humans walk into a bar....
> 
> Actually, they sit down in the King's Hall, have a few drinks, and somehow manage not to kill one another. In the process, Gimli learns a few interesting things about his elven friend's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This ficlet is set during the festivities late into the night following Aragorn and Arwen's wedding.

Gimli, son of Gloin, stayed at battle readiness. Every sense quivered, and his hand stayed near the hilt of his table knife. He wished that he had his trusty axe. He felt almost like he was facing the hordes of Mordor again. 

Legolas, across the table from him, was still. If Gimli hadn't known Legolas, he would have thought the elf as peaceful as an underground lake. But since Gimli had come to know Legolas well, he knew that the elf's stillness was the quiet of a predator waiting for its prey to move. 

The prey, in this case, being Legolas' fellow Greenwood elf, Thomith. Which was fair enough. The idiots giving Gimli pause were Valin, son of Dwalin, and even worse, Gimli's own cousin Balder. At least Legolas' cousin had seemed a decent, quiet fellow. Legolas keeping company with Gimli had raised the young elven lord's eyebrow, but he'd accepted the matter equably enough before retiring with his apologies. That might have been because he didn't like drinking with dwarves, even if he was too polite to say so. But it might also have been because the members of each group, save Gimli and Legolas, were eyeing one another with mutual distrust and dislike, and Legolas' cousin didn't want to be caught up in a brawl. 

Gimli didn't even blame Legolas' cousin Lord so-and-so. Gimli would have left himself, if friendship for Legolas hadn't kept him. They'd stayed by one another through dark hours, and by Aule, Gimli wasn't going to let his fellow dwarves' animosity keep him from celebrating Aragorn's coronation and wedding beside the other members of the fellowship. 

Sadly, Frodo and Samwise had long since departed, still tired from their ordeal, and Merry and Pippin were, of course, off dancing again. That had left the Dale men, Haldor, Erlend, and Rune, to try and make polite conversation between the two groups, since Legolas and Gimli had their hands full with keeping outright hostilities from breaking out. The other elf still at the table - a Lieutenant Orthadvren - wasn't adding to the tension, but he wasn't helping, either. The same went for the other dwarves, Eyvin and Sverrir, both from Gimli's homeland of Erebor. 

"Ah, so," attempted Rune, who was King Bard's heir, and putting his diplomatic skills to the test this night, "Ah, we have many...stories, of the elves, in Laketown." 

"We dwarves have many stories of the elves, as well." Balder growled. 

Gimli smacked Balder's thigh under the table. Across from him, the elf Thomith glared and then winced. Gimli wondered if Legolas' toes were as tired of kicking Thomith's shins as Gimli's palm was of smacking Baldri's leg. It seemed likely, by the faint wrinkle on Legolas' fair brow. 

"Er...yes." The man Haldor offered gamely, responding to his friend Rune's silent appeal for help, "The dwarves dwelt at Erebor for many centuries before...er...that thing...happened." 

Even Gimli's eyes narrowed at that, though he kept his peace. Not so Eyvin. The son of Lord Gloin's long-time foreman gave the young man of Dale a hard look, though his tone stayed level. "By "that thing," you mean the desolation of Smaug and the slaughter of both of our peoples, whilst the elves looked on?" 

"What were we supposed to do, throw ourselves at the dragon to die while the lot of you got further away? Those inside your mountain were already lost, and it even wasn't chasing you anymore!" Thomith hissed back in outrage, while at the same time scooting further away from his prince. Thomith almost scuttled from Legolas, and in a hurried manner completely lacking the normal smooth, elegant elven grace, Gimli noted with no small amount of inner satisfaction. 

"Daro, Thomith!" Legolas snapped, losing his own cool. 

"Now, now." Gimli offered, "There's no need to drag up all of that." No matter how much Gimli might still resent the the elves' actions himself, but he hadn't been there, and couldn't know what had truly passed. In any case, "Tonight is for celebrating. Sauron was all of our bane, and he is gone. Aragorn, the King of this land and MY FRIEND," Gimli emphasized for his countrymen's benefit, "Was wedded tonight. 'Twould be a pity to wake him and his bride with the sound of our brangling over past grievances like stubborn children." Gimli cut into a wedge of cheese by slamming his knife down into the wood of the table, to further stress his point. 

Thomith and Balder reluctantly subsided, the both of them muttering insincere apologies. Legolas' forest-green eyes glinted with amusement, although Gimli could tell that something else was now bothering his fellow warrior. He eyed Legolas inquiringly, wondering what it might be. The Prince of the Greenwood shook his head, just a fraction. Thomith didn't notice, although the older elven warrior, Orthadvren, did. 

Eyvin, apparently trying to make up for his earlier vitriol, offered grudgingly, "My grandfather told some tales of the elves that were....not...bad. Tales of the days in which the elves and the men of Dale would work together to protect shipping along the River Running." 

Rune and Haldor the Dalemen, grateful that someone was aiding them in their peacemaking, both nodded eagerly. "Our ancestors were amongst them." Rune offered, "They fought together with your father's soldiers," He told Legolas brightly, continuing, "Some among them were heroes to us, in Laketown." 

"And known even to the dwarves." Gimli put in, doing his part to contribute to the more congenial atmosphere. "I myself liked the tales of the elven warrioress Bloody Baeraeriel, who wore a necklace of orc teeth around her neck to terrify her foes." It was rather a dwarven thing to do, he'd always thought. Gimli had grown to esteem Legolas highly, but he couldn't imagine the fussy elf being willing to do something so...unfastidious. Not even if it had been a highly effective tactic for giving even the orcs pause, and causing the human bandits to piss their own pants in fear. Or at least it had according to the Dalemen whom Gimli's grandfather had traded with. 

Legolas coughed and looked away. Thomith made a disgusted face. Orthadvren hid a smile. Gimli wondered when he'd gotten so good at reading the frozen, snooty expressions of the elves. 

"Me, I always thought it would have been neat to know their Captain, he whom they called the Balrog Chaser." Commented the man Haldor wistfully. 

"He was a sergeant. Not a Captain." Legolas corrected absently, "It was an informal taskforce, and never merited the formality of a captaincy." 

The collected company stared for a moment. Legolas sighed. 

To draw the apparently unwanted attention away from his companion, Gimli laughed heartily, "Me, I always chuckled when I heard the story of how the Balrog-Chaser and Prince Garrik were captured by the bandit chief, then escaped by drinking his entire bloodthirsty crew under the table." 

Legolas shook his head ever so slightly again. Orthadvren smirked. Thomith managed a small smile. "That really happened, or so I heard. Not that way, though. They put something in the cutthroats' drinks." He commented quietly, his tone surprisingly free of antagonism. 

Even Balder had relaxed. He'd even stopped looking at Thomith as if Thomith would make a good target for his throwing axe. "I always liked the tales about Erynion Lightning-Bow." Balder related uncertainly, as if expecting Thomith or Orthadvren or even Legolas to take advantage of his peace offering to say something cruel and condescending. None of them did. Legolas did blush, and reach for his drink, while the corners of Thomith's mouth twitched into a smile. One plain and friendly enough for even Balder to see. The tension in the atmosphere ratcheted down another notch. 

"Your grandfather and mine used to tell a story," Eyvin reminded Gimli, now leaning back and pulling out his pipe, "About shoving a mine car out of an exterior tunnel, once. Right on top of a troll which had been chasing the human Lord Garrik and Erynion Lightning-Bow." 

"Aye, I remember that." Gimli replied nostalgically, relaxing enough to reach for his own pipe. "Cousin Kili always asked for that story. He was an archer himself, an odd avocation for a dwarf, but one he stubbornly persisted in until it was indulgently permitted." Gimli paused in memory of his cousin, who had lived through the dwarves' quest and the defeat of Smaug only to fall beside his brother whilst protecting their uncle Thorin during the Battle of Five Armies. "Kili used to act out the part where the troll stumbled just long enough to be flattened by the falling mine car and its weight of rock. He was Erynion Lightning-Bow, shooting the troll so full of arrows that it resembled a porcupine." Gimli snorted with laughter, "Me, I always had to be the unfortunate troll." Lost in his own reflection and pleased by the new -if probably temporary- amity at the table, Gimli was completely taken aback when Legolas shot to his feet with a mumbled apology and fled into the quiet dark of the gardens. 

"And there, my...friends," Said Orthadvren the elven lieutenant with a faint, mildly amused gesture towards the fleeing Legolas, "Goes Erynion Lightning-Bow himself." 

Thomith nodded, "'Twas our Prince's use-name, when a soldier. So that he was not a target. It was the name he used in the days before Smaug came, when the Dalemen of long lake and the elves of the Greenwood did indeed patrol together, at times." 

Gimli's kinsman Balder and his fellows had gone from drunk and belligerent to drunk and awe-inspired. Gimli's jaw did drop along with theirs. After all, it wasn't every day that you found out you'd been fighting and sleeping alongside one of your own dwarfling-hood myths. But he didn't give himself time to dwell on it. Instead, he followed swiftly in Legolas' wake. 

Legolas was not easy to find. In the end, Gimli let his knowledge of the elf's fondness of high places, open skies, and growing things guide him. And there, seated on top of an outer wall in the courtyard garden where the dead white tree reigned in state amidst humbler living plants, was Legolas. After the rigors of the Quest and the war, the elf's every expression was familiar to Gimli. But now, with his pale golden hair dyed a glowing silver by the moonlight, and such a distant, lost expression on his face, the elven Prince did seem a thing ethereal. 

He knew that Gimli was there. He must not object, or at least not too much, since his sensitive ears would have given him enough warning to disappear again if he had. 

"I knew Haldor's great-great-great-great-grandfather, a little." Legolas said, his voice empty, "He was friends with Halfdan, Aric, and an earlier Bard. I remember when they first joined our special mixed human and elven unit, as new recruits. I remember when they each married, and when their children were born. I remember when Halfdan fell, fighting yrch, and when Aric drowned in a flash flood. I remember when that earlier Bard died peacefully in his bed. By that time, two of their sons and five of their young kinsmen were in our unit. I remember..." 

Looking at his friend, Gimli suddenly realized that the hollow tone in his voice was not a lack of emotion, but rather pain and despair. Masked by great self-control, but like Legolas' slight smiles and barely-there grimaces, Gimli could still discern it. It helped him know what to say.

"If this is helping ye Lad, then by all means, keep on." Gimli interrupted with gruff kindness, "If not, then...Legolas, I do understand. Acorns into withered trees, you said, and I knew what it meant, then." Although Gimli hadn't really grasped the reality of it, but that wasn't what Legolas needed to hear, and it wasn't the important thing, anyway. The important part was, "You're still the same slender lad who sang to raise our spirits as we crossed the high snows, who put a hand on my shoulder for the first time when I mourned my kin in Moria. Who mourned Ganadalf beside me, yet rallied himself enough to help guide us to the safety of Lothlorien." 

Legolas looked to Gimli with unexpected hope and relief, as if dwarf had found the answer that the elf hadn't even known that he needed to hear. Gimli continued with a teasing smile, "You're still the same lad who threw a temper tantrum about getting blindfolded with me, but did it anyway so that we could finally get to a safe place to rest. You're the same elf who ran across Rohan with me, looking for Merry and Pippin. The same who fought beside me at Helm's deep, who walked the path of the dead at my side. I understand that ye have done other things, too, in your long life. Who wouldn't have, in five plus centuries. But you're still the kind and brave but slightly crazy lad I've come to know. You haven't changed, and I'm not going to treat you any differently." Gimli narrowed his eyes, "Even if you do get all the dashing nicknames." 

Legolas laughed. And not just laughed, but that happy, unexpected, light-hearted young man's laugh, the one that Gimli had only ever heard Aragorn draw from him, before. Even better, the elf got down from the edge of that be-cursed high wall, still laughing. Pleased, he remarked, "Gimli, I think that my father will like you."

Gimli rather doubted that, but perhaps Thranduil would be as different, once one got to know him, as Legolas had been from Gimli's first impression of him. In which case, "I think I will like him, too. For having sired my friend, if nothing else." Gimli nodded firmly, and Legolas nodded back. Side-by-side, they went back into the King's Hall. Just in time for Legolas to teasingly relate that the solemn lieutenant Orthadvren had once been known as Orthad the Orc Slayer. 

In later years, when Legolas was being particularly offensive, Gimli would tease him by calling him Legolas Lightning- Mouth. Elladan and Elrohir Elrondion really liked that name, and picked it up. Aragorn and Faramir, out of amused concern for their gwador, did not. Even if, sometimes, Legolas did talk too much. 

Gimli really was curious about how many of the stories about Erynion Lightning-Bow were true. Even more curious than the Dale men, to be honest. But he was patient enough, and sensitive enough to Legolas' feelings, to wait until he had one of Legolas' looser lipped family members in private, to ask. Most of the tales were surprisingly accurate, but to Gimli's disappointment, Lieutenant-the-Lady Baeraeriel's orc teeth were nothing but cunningly-wrought beads. During one memorable party, Gimli even got to wear them, twined into his own braided beard by the drunk Baeraeriel and the even more intoxicated Legolas.


	11. Every Child Needs a ....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's main objective when it comes to clashes between his wife and their daughter is to stay out of the way. Especially when the subject is a particularly ugly, vicious, snapping-turtle-like creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Thanks to for letting me borrow their Greenwood elf original characters from their series "The Greenwood Chronicles," including Thranduil's Queen Minaethiel. Please note that all of my stories are AU; I have tried to be true to Emma and Kaylee's characterization of these elves, but this is not a preview of what Emma and Kaylee's elves will be like in the Third and Fourth Ages. It is just an idea of what they might be like, in my alternate universe. In particular, my older children of Thranduil - his heir, Thandrin, and the twins, Eryntheliel and Lithidhren, are not the same as Emma's and Kaylee's will be whenever they write them in the third age.   
> If you'd like to read more of Emma and Kaylee's series, The Greenwood Chronicles, they are beginning to be posted on AO3 at:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743
> 
> A/N 2: set during the watchful peace, when Thranduil's children Eryntheliel and Lithidhren are in their early teens. Thranduil's heir Thandrin is about 130 - 140, and a young soldier.

"Puppies, kittens, clever bunnies, fox cubs, weasels, mice, young goats...if they can be taught not to eat one another, to respect certain standards of cleanliness, and to be companionable, or help deal with the pest problem, or trim the grass in the gardens, I've put up with them." Queen Minaethiel said quietly, trying to make the point that she'd been eminently reasonable, but this was beyond the pale. "Fish, lizards, frogs, toads, young otters 'til they were big enough to return to the river, and every kind of normal turtle. But this..."

"His name is Snip, Nana." Eryntheliel offered helpfully. "Because he almost snipped off Thandrin's finger when Thandrin didn't respect his space." Snip's space was most of one of the larger ponds in the garden, and several yards around its shore.

Thranduil peered dubiously at his daughter's latest find. Snip, who looked like a small clot of dead leaves and smelled strongly of something unpleasant, peered back. Or at least Thranduil thought that those were eyes.

Eryntheliel looked pleadingly to her father, "The pointier parts of Snip's shell are poisonous, and those biting flies keep landing on it and dying, so that makes him useful, right?"

"Er...," commented Thranduil, trying to think of a way to keep wife, daughter, and heir happy. Although to be fair, Thandrin didn't seem terribly upset with Snip. Or perhaps Thranduil's heir was just too accustomed to his baby sister's orphans.

"He doesn't seem to like the sun." Thranduil's youngest son and Eryntheliel's twin Lithidhren murmured, looking carefully at Snip (but not getting into his space) as the creature paddled around just the shady part of the pond. "Maybe he'd like one of the underground pools, near the river exit."

Minaethiel blinked, "What underground pools?" She did like the idea of leaving Snip in the northern hall, when they returned to the castle at Emyn Duir.

Thandrin, who was wearing a bandage and very carefully respecting Snip's space, explained, "The rains were so heavy about a decade ago that Lord Forothon's castellan decided to have overflow chutes made, for when the water rose past the level of the river entrance. The overflow chutes can be loosed as an additional defense in case of invasion, siege, or orc attack. They can be loosed at anyone coming up the river entrance. Such as outlaws who are guise as traders."

Lithidhren nodded enthusiastically, seeing a future for Snip and a happy ending for his beloved twin and mother. "And as they are, they provide added obstacles for anyone who escapes the dungeon."

Suppressing a smile, Thranduil asked, "You mean the cellars which lock that we use as a dungeon?" Most often, especially since the Watchful Peace had started, those cellars more often held grain, canned goods, or wine. Sometimes they held furniture which wasn't currently in use.

Minaethiel sighed, "How poisonous is...Snip?" She asked her daughter dubiously.

"Only a little." Eryntheliel defended her new friend, "Touching the wrong part of his shell makes your fingers itch and burn for a minute, but nothing worse."

"And his bite is only mildly poisonous, the healers say." Thandrin added, grinning at his sister, "For a full grown elf, it's nothing. Even a little elfling would just feel a little sleepy."

Since they didn't keep little elflings in the cellars, Thranduil saw no real problem with that. "Well, Eryniel, Snip seems a bit too effective a guardian of the pond...," also, he'd eaten eighteen fish in the six hours he'd been in residence, "But I see no reason why he couldn't take up residence in the overflow pools in the cellar, provided that you feed him while we're in residence, and find someone willing to do so while we're away."

Eryntheliel grinned, grabbed her mother's hand to dance Minaethiel around the garden, and then told her parents that they were the best parents ever, and her brothers that they were the finest brothers in the world. Picking up Snip, carefully, Eryntheliel cooed to him about how happy he would be. And Snip did look rather happy. Or maybe hungry, it was hard to tell.

Minaethiel gave her husband a chiding, rueful smile as their three elflings left to take Snip to his new home and explore the cellar with their friends. "You're a softie for your daughter." She teased her husband.

Thranduil, mildly affronted, drew himself into a mock pompous expression, and aiming to mimic one of his more officious councilors in a mood, unctuously stated, "Every little girl needs a...." Thranduil trailed off. Snip was a bit hard to describe.

"Poisonous, biting, incredibly ugly reptile that we think is a turtle?" Minaethiel offered, her eyes now dancing with amusement.

"Yes," Thranduil agreed, "One of those." Since the ground was safe to sit on now, Thranduil sat down, pulling Minaethiel down beside him, and watching as a pair of geese led their goslings to the water. "Soon she'll be grown, I just want her to be able to have a real elflinghood." He murmured, kissing his wife's soft blond hair, "Even if that means poisonous, biting, noxious turtles in the cellar."

Minaethiel tucked her head under her husband's chin, and smiled. "Your mother is going to think that this is hilarious."

That was probably true, Thranduil reflected. But it was also true that, "She's just going to be glad that I never met the like of Snip as an elfling."


	12. Winter's Whispering Wings on a Golden Autumn Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Watchful Peace still held, but even on the brightest autumn day Thranduil could sense that the darkness was returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: 
> 
> "Something told the wild geese  
> It was time to go;  
> Though the fields lay golden  
> Something whispered, - 'snow'.  
> Leaves were green and stirring,  
> Berries, luster-glossed,  
> But beneath warm feathers  
> Something cautioned, - 'frost'.
> 
> All the sagging orchards  
> Steamed with amber spice,  
> But each wild breast stiffened  
> At remembered ice.
> 
> Something told the wild geese  
> It was time to fly -  
> Summer sun was on their wings,  
> Winter in their cry."
> 
> \- by Rachel Lyman Field

"How do they know?" 

"When to fly?" 

"Yes." 

Thranduil paused to think. "They look to the stars in the night sky, or so I was told." 

"Who told you that?" His daughter asked, jumping up to balance along a fallen forest giant. 

"Some elf from Imladris." Answered Thranduil suspiciously, beginning to suspect where this was going. 

His daughter's dancing blue eyes told him that he was right. 

"It's their nature." She said, in her straightforward way. "The goslings are born in the melting snow, as far north as north will go. Then they fly here." 

"Because they need to find a place where their food still grows in the winter, Eryniel-nin." He reminded Eryntheliel sardonically, "Not because they have decided to throw a strop over not being able to spend the Harvest Festival with their human friends and eat themselves sick on candy." 

Eryntheliel shrugged. "I like the forest. So do you. It's our nature. Where we need to go to find ourselves again is just a short walk away from wherever we call home. For Lithidhren..." She paused to think, her pretty triangular face unusually pensive, "I don't think he knows yet, where his place is." Then she nodded, "Yes, that's right. So, his nature right now is to look. You can't ask someone to be something other than their nature." 

"Hmm." The woodland King answered, as they paused to watch a pair of squirrels dance through the upper branches of the trees. In their dance, they startled the wood-elk who had followed his master out into the autumn twilight. 

"Oh, relax and be braver, Faron, would you?" Thranduil asked his mount, exasperated. The great wood-elk was more than twenty times the two squirrels' size. Faron snorted, his opinion of his master's scold quite clear. Thranduil did not apologize, but he did pause a moment to stroke the elk's velvety nose. It had been nearly a decade, since Faron found Thranduil. He didn't know whether he'd won his large companion's heart by rescuing him from a hunter's snare or by feeding him journey bread, but either way, he'd had the great horned menace following him about by the time they'd returned to Emyn Muir. Faron had given, "He followed me home, can I keep him?" an entirely new meaning to the King's court at Emyn Muir. 

"Hmm...Hmm...Hmm...Faron." Hummed Eryntheliel, sotto-voce, in her sweet alto, all the while giving her father an amused look. Faron's name meant hunter, and how far the stately creature had wandered before he found Thranduil the King could only wonder. 

"Yes, Rhovaniel-nin, you've made your point." Thranduil conceded to his beloved wild daughter, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not much made the King smile these days, not with the rumors of orcish activity increasing and the foul smell of spider nests in the south. But his children, particularly his only daughter, had the knack of it. Even when she was campaigning on behalf of her infuriating brother. Thinking of....

"Eryn, I cannot let Lithidhren stay after the tantrum he threw tonight." 

Eryntheliel tilted her face, considering that. Thranduil let his eyes rest on her, and let himself feel the simple joy of walking in the woods with her. The small lot of trees they'd planted here near Long Lake were not much, compared to their great green wood, but they made for a pleasant enough ramble of an autumn's eve, particularly as glimpses of the blue lake became visible between the brilliant red and orange leaves, glowing bold amongst the evergreen pine. 

"It wasn't too bad of a tantrum." Eryntheliel concluded, after a minute. 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Compared to whose, muin-nin?" 

"No one's, Ada." Her blue eyes shone with mischief again, just for a moment. "Perhaps Thandrin's." Or perhaps an adolescent Thranduil's, although Eryntheliel was wise enough not to suggest it. Or maybe she really didn't know. He should fix that, someday. When she was older. 

"Hmm." Said Thranduil again, considering his daughter's point. His heir's anger had been apt to manifest itself in explosive yelling and occasionally even the throwing of things, when Thandrin had been just barely come into his adulthood. The age that Lithidhren and Eryntheliel were now. Like summer storms were Thandrin's rages, there and gone again. Thranduil understood them; could deal with them. Mostly his wife did, but Thranduil could, as well. Thandrin was counseled or punished, or first the one and then the other, whatever the situation required. Then it was over again, and he was affectionate and open and cheerful, as he almost always was. 

Eryntheliel was quieter, in her way. More apt to just take action regarding whichever problem was disturbing her, which could be good or bad. But Lithidhren, Lithidhren stewed. Thranduil was not accustomed to tantrums from Lithidhren. It was normally so hard to pry the young ellon from the library, that he had little time for tantrums. 

"He is going to sulk all winter." The King realized, with a sense of dismay. 

Lithidhren's twin sister shrugged. "But only if you don't find some other punishment, and let him stay." She paused again, to watch a smaller deer dart away, intimidated by Faron, slipping away like a shy shadow into the spicy autumn breeze. "It is his nature." She reminded her father. 

Thranduil inhaled deeply, playing for time to think about Eryntheliel's plea. The scent of cooking fires and roast apples and pumpkins blew towards them from across the river, where the Men of the Kingdom of Dale were preparing for their upcoming celebration. Thranduil wrinkled his nose. It wasn't all bad, per se, but it was too much. "How can he like that?" He marveled to his daughter, waving an arm in the direction of the lake, "Compared to this?" He gestured all around them, to the trees, to the wild creatures, to the breeze which caressed their skin and made the feathers in Eryntheliel's hair dance. 

"It's..."

"His nature, yes, I know." Thranduil thought some more. Eryntheliel left him be, and it was no strain to her. She possessed the patience of a wild creature, and could wait hours for a ground-squirrel to dare to venture out of it's burrow. Lithidhren...had patience until he didn't. Thranduil's youngest son could search the archives for hours for the smallest mention of an herb his sister was interested in, yet one order - one reasonable order - from his father and King had him throwing his quill down and leaving the room. Had Thranduil ever lived so much in the now, that he couldn't have waited a single year to go to some party with a young human? Or perhaps several years. Even the fifty-two year old twins had duties now, responsibilities that did not permit them to go hither and thither as they willed. And there was something...changing, here in Lake-town. In the Dale. Thranduil didn't like it. It felt like the south, when it had turned. There was nothing that he could put his finger on....but. But, but, but. Eryntheliel had felt it, too. 

"There are no large predators here. No great cats, no wolves. No bears." She had remarked, as they walked the streets, "But somehow I feel as if there are, and mind-sick ones, at that." 

"Not all predators are animals, Princess." Healer Ecthelion-call-me-Theli had told her, while Thranduil and his guards looked around for any possible threat. They were on edge, his guards. And his children, and himself. And Theli and Lord Nathron, who both had a history of correct predictions, about such things. 

"We'll post an extra guard, when we sleep here, these nights." Thranduil had determined. So they had done. Even Lithidhren, who was normally unaware of threats which were not recorded in the archives, reminded his guards and staff not to go venturing out alone in Lake-town. 

But now their trading trip was done. They had no more reason to stay. Lithidhren's request that he be permitted to join his...quill-friend, a lesser Prince of Dale, and his escort at this festival...was not, in the King's opinion, a sufficient reason to remain. Thranduil was eager to shake off the dust and strong human smells and loud sounds of Lake-town, and resume to his tour of the northern wood before returning to the castle at Emyn Muir for the winter. Particularly given how uneasy Thranduil felt in Lake-town, he didn't want to leave either of his children there. King and younger son had argued the matter, before Lithidhren yelled at Thranduil in frustration and retreated to his bedchamber. 

That was when Eryntheliel and Thranduil had set off on their walk. As they pushed aside the brambles on the hill leading up to the shore of the lake, Thranduil considered his daughter's request. Yes, he'd been very angry with Lithidhren, earlier. His son's behavior had been disrespectful and insubordinate, but it had also, mostly, been in private. Those who knew what had happened wouldn't think badly of Thranduil as a father for changing the punishment he had already decreed, nor were they likely to gossip about the matter to anyone else. 

Faron stopped to sniff at what looked like a fox hole. Thranduil laid a hand on the great-elk's warm hide, and continued thinking. Ordering Lithidhren and Eryntheliel to accompany him to the Northern Hall and then on a tour of the north, or even sending them home to Emyn Muir, would be the easy solution, in many ways. Oh, Lithidhren would hate it, would hate being taken away from one of the few close friends he had ever made, even if that friend was a human prince and that friendship had been created through exchange of letters. Thranduil paused for a moment to shake his head. He could not understand how forming such a close friendship through mere written words was even possible, but he could not deny that there was real affection and mutual esteem between his son Lithidhren and the young human prince Bard. 

But yes, sending Lithidhren home and thereby preventing him from continuing to develop this friendship would be a firm punishment, a strong deterrent against poor behavior from this child whom Thranduil understood the least well out of any of his offspring. It would be easy for Thranduil to deny Lithidhren this, at least until the sulking began to wear on him, but if Thranduil were to send the twins home to Emyn Muir, the sulking would be his wife's problem. He brightened for a moment at that thought, then frowned when he reflected that his beloved wife was too easy on Lithidhren and might allow him to return to visit Prince Bard with only a minimal escort. 

Thranduil sighed deeply. He could spank Lithidhren instead of forbidding him to stay for this harvest festival. Then he could leave some of the guards and staff behind to bring the twins along to meet him at the Northern Hall a after the festival was over. At the Northern Hall, Thranduil would be close enough to return swiftly in force, should the twins encounter any trouble. 

That would be harder for Thranduil to do in some ways - to trust the twins to remain here without him, and also to spank Lithidhren instead of depriving the youth of something. Generally, removing some privilege was a very effective way to punish Lithidhren. Thranduil's youngest son did not make friends easily, so depriving him of his new friend's company would be a very effective deterrent, indeed. But Eryntheliel was right, in a way. It would be cruel. It would be expecting Lithidhren to act against his nature, against his strong desire to explore this new friendship and this new culture, now that his interest had been engaged. As King and father, it was Thranduil's right and responsibility to insist that his second-heir obey him, especially when a matter of importance, to the kingdom, or to the raising of Lithidhren, or to Lithidhren's safety, was at stake. But...was that really the case, here? 

Yes, Thranduil felt uneasy in Lake-town, but no more uneasy than he felt in most of the southern woods, and of late in towns just an hour's ride south of Emyn Muir. He wouldn't leave Eyrntheliel and Lithidhren alone there - but they wouldn't be alone in Laketown. They would be with half a platoon of guards, a political advisor, an archivist, a trade advisor, a healer, and sundry other attendants. It was, perhaps, time to let the twins grow up and stretch their wings a little. 

Spanking Lithidhren would also not be easy for Thranduil, or, for that matter, for Lithidhren. The young Prince was entirely too fond of his dignity, for that. Nor did he bear physical pain with anything like his older brothers' noble but cheeky stoicism. More, Lithidhren did not like all of the running and drilling required of a young soldier in training. Thranduil could assign him extra of that, as well, in lieu of refusing his request to stay for the harvest festival. 

Before Thranduil could reach a decision, they arrived at the lake. Standing carefully on the marshy ground of the shore, Eryntheliel took his hand as they heard the first distant sounds of geese calling out as their wings beat the wind. Hundreds upon thousands they came, 'home' to their winter feeding grounds from their nesting grounds in the furthest north. 

Thranduil did not particularly like Lake-town, but this was always an awe-inspiring sight. The blue waters of the lake, once still enough to reflect the gold-and-red crowned trees, now rippled as flock after flock made their landing. The famous lake of Laketown had become a sea of soft feathers, long necks, and bright eyes. 

Behind the marshy shore, the trees murmured in Thranduil's mind. Not as if they were worried, or warning him of a threat, but more as if they were amused. There was no sound other than the soft "shh-ing" of leaves in the wind and feathers in the sky, but Eryn's head twitched. Almost as if she wanted to turn to look behind them, but had decided not to, for some reason. She started to smile, the little smile that was just for her twin. That was when Thranduil knew that Lithidhren must have gotten over his snit, and come to join them. He didn't turn around, though. Lithidhren had done a good job of sneaking up on them- Thranduil would let his son have his fun. Or at least carry out his aim. Thranduil wasn't sure if stalk-and-pounce even counted as fun, for Lithidhren. 

Fun or not, Lithidhren was taking it quite seriously. Thranduil knew that he was coming, and almost any seasoned warrior would also have known that he was coming. But it was still the most quietly Thranduil had ever known his son to move in the trees, and Thranduil was proud of him. That didn't stop him from whirling and quickly wrestling Lithidhren to the damp, uneven ground just before his son could tap his shoulder to complete the stalk. 

"Oof!" Exclaimed Lithidhren, his sapphire blue eyes just as bright as his sister's. To the youth's credit, he managed a semi-effective struggle. Thranduil could have pinned his son immediately, but he held back a little, letting Lithidhren show what he had learned of a warrior's craft since the last time they had done this. Or rather, since the last time Thranduil had found the time to drop by one of Lithidhren's classes to watch his son struggle. Lithidhren was not the natural warrior that Thandrin had been, nor was he even the eager and steadfast pupil that their elder foster-brother Thalion had been. Nothing physical came easy to Lithidhren, but he was trying. Thranduil was coming to a new respect, for his second son. 

"Better, ion-nin." Thranduil praised quietly, after ending the struggle and helping Lithidhren to his feet. "Much better." 

Lithidhren's pale skin flushed with pleasure, and Thranduil thought to himself that he really did need to try harder, with this youngest son of his whom he loved dearly but had so much trouble understanding. 

"I'm sorry, Ada." Lithidhren offered immediately, more uncomfortable than Thranduil would have had him be, and still upset, but sincerely apologetic more than anything. "I should not have yelled at you, like that. I know that you have your reasons for what you decide, and even if you don't, I shouldn't have behaved so poorly." 

Thranduil listened to the apology, trying to ignore Eryntheliel radiating her desire that her twin and her father reconcile. "I am glad that you understand that, ion-nin." Thranduil said, after a few moments thought. 

Lithidhren hesitated, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do next. Thranduil pulled the youth into a strong embrace, whispering near silently into his ear, "I do have my reasons, Lithidhren. But I am not unwilling to reconsider your request to stay for the festival. But only after we have a....little talk, about your manners."

In barely a moment, Lithidhren relaxed, stiffened, relaxed, and tensed again. Thranduil patted his son on the shoulder and stepped away, turning back to the lake. Lithidhren's face was flushed bright red. Thranduil could not tell, out of the corner of his eye, if the youth was more embarrassed about his upcoming spanking or excited for the chance to enjoy the human holiday with his friends. 

Eryntheliel turned their attention back to the geese, pointing out a mated couple boisterously reuniting with three of the previous year's fledglings in the lee of a rocky islet. 

"They steer by the stars, Ada." Eryntheliel said again. 

"So says some elf in Imladris, yes, Rhovaniel-nin." Thranduil answered, putting one hand on her shoulder and resting the other lightly on Lithidhren's. Eryntheliel turned to give him a happy grin. Lithidhren only looked down shyly, but Thranduil could tell that he was pleased, too. 

"But how does steering by the stars help them to find eachother again?" Eryntheliel asked. "Those three just-grown geese were on the far edge of the lake. They flew in just now with the flock led by the goose with white splotch on his neck. The mated pair - the parents - they were part of the small group that arrived yesterday." 

Thranduil hadn't noticed which specific geese were part of which flight, but he didn't doubt his daughter's statement. She was very observant, about such things. 

"Maybe they can tell one another apart by the sound of their honks, like how Lord Elladan says that the north-birds that don't fly can distinguish their families?" Lithidhren hazarded, "Or maybe something about the feathers?" 

"But that still wouldn't explain how all of these goose families find eachother, after flying so far and being separated for so long." Erytheliel marveled. 

Thranduil wasn't really sure of the answer to his daughter's questions. He often wasn't, and he more often than not just admitted it. But with all of the uncertainties looming in their lives, with darkness beginning to linger in the southern shadows and Lake-town giving him the shivers, Thranduil felt it important to assure his twins, "Parents will always be able to find their children. No matter how far apart they must wander." 

The years were still bright, the watchful peace still held. But somehow the older elves knew that evil was stirring, and they were sailing, their children and their kin with them. Soon, pressure would come for Thranduil to send at least the twins, and possibly also Thandrin, away for their own safety. So he said again, putting his arms around the twins and kissing their heads each in turn, "I hope that we will not be separated, but if we were to be, your Naneth and I will the four of you. Never doubt that, no matter what happens." 

Lithidhren was quiet. Eryntheliel spoke for them both, "Even though you don't know how you would find us, Ada?" 

"Even though, iel-laes-nin. Even though." Thranduil assured her, glad to have this bright afternoon to share with his children, whatever the future might hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a review or kudos if you are so inclined, they are so encouraging. Thank you for reading!


	13. Dragonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of the Greenwood knows about Dragons, and hopeless causes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am using several of Emma and Kaylee's OCs (Baralin and Linwe) in this story, with their kind permission.

All Thranduil knew, when he first came to true consciousness again, was the pain. It was a constant. But as with all things, there are levels of pain. The King remembered dragon fire, burning half of his face, his left shoulder, and his chest. He took a breath, hardly even noticing that he couldn't close his jaw properly because the other side of his jaw....just wasn't there. 

This was bad pain, Thranduil recognized, but not the worst. It was almost a good day, so far as the recent days Thranduil could hazily remember. The worst day had been screaming in pain until his throat was raw, being dragged away from the greatest of the great lizards by Baralin and the dwarven prince Fror. It had taken Thranduil a long time to remember what they'd even been doing, or why he had thought that going to attack the fearsome lizards in the north was a good idea. He still wasn't clear on the details of that, or even of exactly where he was. He should work on figuring that out. 

Thranduil looked up at the ceiling with one good eye. The worked-stone above told him that he was in his own Northern Hall. Safe, or as safe as safe was, these days. 

He took a deep breath. Why not, after all. He could. Some of the air he breathed in through his mouth didn't stay in his mouth because one cheek was a burnt, damaged wreck. But he could still take deep breaths, enough air finally made it to his lungs to take deep breaths again. 

"You're lucky to yet be breathing, dear cousin." A soft, familiar voice remarked from Thranduil's right. 

"Elrond." He murmured, as his older cousin came up to greet him. Holding Thranduil's good hand gently, Elrond smiled, but his gray eyes....deep worry and receding panic and abiding love and....and more than a hint of oh-Valar-Thranduil-my-elfling-cousin-what-have-you-done? 

"The dragons were stealing our goats." Thranduil said defensively. That didn't come out quite legible - one side of his jaw wasn't working well. He repeated it, more slowly. 

Elrond shook his head. "When you are more healed, we will discuss this. At great length, Thranduil. But I will not speak of anything save how glad I am to have you still with us, not until you are entirely well." 

"It was the right thing to do." Thranduil continued, ignoring Elrond's decision, "We can't fight the accursed spiders and the foul orcs, and my forest as it sickens, and then be opening a northern front with dragons. It can't be done, Elrond. Had to be avoided, if at all possible. A quick strike, kill enough of them that they won't come south again." 

Thranduil had never heard Elrond curse before, but he cursed now. Not at Thranduil, but more at the situation. 

"I want to help you, cousin, and I am not sure how." Elrond said, when he had finished berating fate and other powers. 

"You do help." Thranduil assured him. Greenwood stood on its own, but Elrond came to help as healer whenever he was needed, and sometimes even when he wasn't. Thranduil loved Elrond like an uncle, and Elrond came to advise him when Thranduil asked, and most often when he didn't, but many of those times he did need advice. If Greenwood needed anything - stone workers for their caves, swordsmiths, dried herbs, food, if Greenwood ever wanted for anything, Elrond would provide it at as low a price as Thranduil's pride would let him accept. 

"I think we might be helping more, for awhile." Elrond said dryly, "Uncle Celeborn is sleeping in the next room. He has been beside you often, these past months, as you've woken and faded back to sleep." 

Thranduil wasn't sure whether to be happy or worried about that. He was very glad that Uncle Celeborn was here, but at the same time, did not want to hear the lecture that Celeborn had probably spent those months composing. Wait..."Months, Elrond? Did you say that I have been sleeping and drifting for months?" 

"Aye, my dear little cousin." Elrond answered, returning to Thranduil's side to stroke his arm in reassurance, and going so far as to place a very gentle kiss on Thranduil's good cheek. "It has been six months, since Linwe and Baralin first brought your burned body back to us, from the north. Legolas felt it when you fell, and sent as many healers as could be spared from the Hall to meet you en route. They worked marvels, Thranduil. Truly, they...you should be proud of them all. Especially Nestorion, and Galad, and..... 

"And Theli, whom you favor." Thranduil finished, with a sneer. Not so much for Theli or Elrond, but because he did not want to think about having been so weak, about all of the emotion of the days to come. Yes, he was glad to be with Elrond, for their help, and he would lean on Elrond and Celeborn because he would need them. Only as much as he needed them, but...Thranduil had to be strong. And hearing about how he had needed healers to work miracles to save him was not something that made him feel strong. 

"I do favor Theli. If you tire of him, send him to serve me in Imladris." Elrond answered, half-teasing, as his light healer's hands tended to Thranduil. 

"No." Replied Thranduil, "No poaching of my elves." The pain was wearing on him, but this comfortable old argument did a fine job of distracting him while Elrond ministered to burnt bits of Thranduil that the King didn't really want to see. He'd have to look, soon, but he'd trust Elrond to know when. At least for now, until he felt stronger. 

Elrond raised an eyebrow as he began gently working an unguent onto a part of Thranduil's left leg. "Poaching, Cousin? Nay, only borrowing. Just for a few centuries. I could loan you my oldest sons, in exchange." 

"Don't you dare." Thranduil growled. He liked Elrohir and Elladan, one on one. Loved them, even, and Elrohir was one of his favorites amongst all of his many cousins. But together, Elrond's twins tended to do things like...make a new chemical mixture that attracts spiders. And spill it, all over the castle at Emyn Duir, drawing to their former home every single cursed spider in the forest. That had necessitated their retreat to the Northern Hall at least a year before Thranduil would have conceded it. But also a season after Celeborn and Elrond had argued for it, so at least someone was happy, even if their being happy made Thranduil more annoyed. Thinking of that incident, which Legolas had been involved in, albeit peripherally...

"Where is my baby?" He asked Elrond, heart in his throat. "Where is Legolas?" Even though Legolas was of age and past, he would always be Thranduil's youngest child, his baby. 

Elrond smiled, gentle and wry and understanding. "Legolas is playing regent, and doing so rather well. Herdir and your aunt feed him many of his lines, and your other advisors and kin help as well. But he listens better than most elves his age, and has some good suggestions of his own, from time to time." Like sending the healers, apparently.   
Thranduil relaxed a bit. "Legolas is well, then." 

"As well as can be expected." Elrond corrected. "Better, now that you are getting better. I have sent for him. He will arrive just before you fall asleep again. Should I tell him that you are already dreaming, and to come back soon?" 

"No." Thranduil decided. He didn't like the idea of having any of his children, particularly his baby son, see him so weak, but Legolas had probably seen him worse, over the...months. He could use the reassurance of seeing his youngest son. And his oldest, as well. Thranduil frowned, "Where is Thalion?" His foster-son had been supposed to stay at the Northern Hall, to support Legolas. 

Elrond's smile faded a bit. "In the north." 

"Did we succeed?" 

Elrond paused. 

"Have the dragons retreated, Elrond?" Thranduil roared, the words half unintelligible as the painful side of his face throbbed. Thranduil began pushing himself up with his good arm, ready to demand the answer to his question. 

"Daro, Thranduil!" Elrond ordered, more sharply than ever Thranduil had heard him speak. He stopped trying to get up, and stared at Elrond, who was hovering over him and checking his bandages. 

"You haven't done any great damage, this time, but if you do that again, elfling cousin mine, if you put back this recovery in any way by your hard-headed stubbornness, I will make you regret it, if I ...If I have to lock you in a small room with Galadriel to teach you meditation for a century until you have finally learned something." 

"I think that I'd rather die." Thranduil said honestly, quite taken aback. 

Elrond smiled, but it wasn't really a smile. It felt like a threat, the threat of someone who loved him, yes, but a very real threat. And to think, Thranduil had often preferred Elrond to punish him, when Thranduil was a child, because Elrond was likely to go light on him. Maybe the twins had turned Elrond into a frightening disciplinarian? Or maybe Elrond just didn't like dragons. Thranduil didn't think he did, anymore, either. He also thought that whatever pain medication Elrond had given him might be making him a bit...loopy. But he hadn't lost track of the most important point. 

"Elrond. Did we succeed? Did we bloody the dragons enough that they have left the foothills for the Grey Mountains proper?" Thranduil asked intently. 

Elrond sighed. Laying a gentle hand on Thranduil's shoulder, he explained. "The dragons have withdrawn, back into the mountains. You fell just before Asgareth, the great female dragon...." 

"Who breathed fire. Elrond, she breathed fire." 

"I know, Thrani-muin-nin. I know." Elrond squeezed his hand gently. 

"Cold drakes aren't supposed to breathe fire." Thranduil protested. 

"No, they're not. She wasn't a cold drake, Thranduil. She must have been, at least in part, something older and worse. I am sorry that you had to meet her. I am sorry that you did not tell Celeborn or myself that you were going. We have fought them before - we might have been able to keep the casualties lower. You were lucky, to lose only so many as you did. From how your elves described her, she could have killed you all easily." 

Tears fell down Thranduil's face as he began to remember how many had died beside him. "I led them to their deaths." He murmured, hating himself for that. 

"No, Thranduil." Elrond said sharply. When Thranduil's blue eyes turned to him, Elrond explained, "They followed you, because they, too, believed that if the dragons were not stopped, they would attack the wood and kill much of what remains to you. Thranduil, YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN WRONG." 

"Not much good, to them." 

"A lot of good. Every soldier fights so that his family might live, be safe, and grow. They all had families, or someone they cared about, here. And they succeeded." 

Thranduil relaxed, just a little. "If we succeeded, Elrond, then tell me - why is Thalion still in the north?" 

Elrond tensed. "Did you make a...deal, with the dwarves?" 

Thranduil frowned. That didn't sound like something he'd do. He didn't hate dwarves like Celeborn or his other family members who had lived through the betrayal by dwarves in Doriath, but he didn't like them, either. Too standoffish, and stone-loving. But wait, there had been some dwarves whom Thranduil had liked, during the War of the Last Alliance, when their King Durin IV had brought his army to fight beside the elves and men. 

One of those dwarves had been named Fror, like the dwarven Prince and his trading party they had rescued from the dragons when they began their attack in the foothills of the Grey Mountains, last week...well, some months ago and last week. 

Thranduil had liked this new Fror, too, and the way he abandoned his wagons and ordered his people to stay to help the elves fight the dragons even after they could have gotten to safety. Seeing a dwarf chop off a cold drake's foot with an axe was a happy image that was now etched in Thranduil's memory. They had actually fought well together. The cold drakes could fly, but they had to land to attack properly, without flame. The dwarves attacked them low, and the elves attacked them high. They'd killed five or six, by the end of the week. More than enough to make the immortal creatures reconsider whether it was really worth trying to extend their territory into Thranduil's wood. 

Thranduil and his Captains had been considering a retreat. They'd offered to stay with Fror and his smaller group until they reached their mountain. But...Fror had asked them to go further, up and around the settlement of dragons they had just killed. There was a mining party, in the hills. Their mood high, and not opposed to killing more dragons, Thranduil and his captains had agreed. Well, most of them. 

There were dragons, by the mine. Including she who called herself Asgareth, who spoke and breathed fire. Thranduil's heart sped up, even thinking of her. 

"Relax, cousin-mine." Elrond soothed him, "You are safe here. And even if you did agree to have your Northern patrols escort the dwarves from the Grey Mountains to the Long Lake, there is no harm in that. In fact, it is quite a gesture of good will, and should make an ally of Thror's people should they settle there." 

"I....I did what?" Thranduil tried to remember. He made himself recall standing beside Linwe and the practically-vibrating Baralin, as Fror mourned for his people. Only two of the hundred dwarves in that mine had survived. They were fighting their way back, after Thranduil had sent Linwe and a squad around and above them, with elven and dwarven engineers and blast powder, to explode part of the cliff above and bury Asgareth in the falling rocks. 

"She is dead, Thranduil." Elrond assured him, bringing him back again to the safety of the moment. "The rocks held her, though they did not kill her. But they held her down long enough for your elves and the dwarves with their arrows to finish her off, stab by cut." 

Almost, Thranduil could feel sorry for her. That was no way for anything to die. But better dead than alive, for that one. Then, Thranduil remembered...

"I made an agreement with Prince Fror, that if they gave us a reasonable supply of their dragon-slaying arrows, and a chest of moonstones to reinforce the safe store houses at the edges of the different patrol territories, that I would order an escort for Fror's father King Dain, and his people, so that they could leave the Grey Mountains in safety." Thranduil told Elrond. Then he frowned, "Nothing was said of an escort all the way to Long Lake. Just out of the Grey Mountains." 

"Ah. Well, Fror was caught in the same blast of fire as you, Thranduil." 

Thranduil let out a pained breath. "He is dead?" 

"Yes. You and Baralin were the only ones to survive, of those of you who dared to distract Asgareth." Elrond's hands held Thranduil's unburned hand, cradling it gently. The touch anchored Thranduil to the here and now, reminded him of so many other times, with Elrond. Kept him in the now, or the distant past, rather than in the midst of the dragons and the fire. 

"Fror's people should have honored his bargain. He was the son of their King." Thranduil said hoarsely, thinking of the brave young dwarf, and how tragic it was that his life had been cut short just like that. 

"Fror was the youngest son of the King. Dain, the King, may have honored his word. Dain also died, leading forth a party to rescue Fror and the miners. Your elves met their survivors on the way down the mountain. Thror, Dain's heir, led your guard and litter bearers through his tunnels. It saved over a day in getting you to proper healers, Thranduil. They may have saved your life." 

"So, they leveraged that into an escort all the way to Long Lake?" Thranduil hazarded, his blue eyes sparking with temper. How dare the dwarves use the blood of their own Prince, and of Thranduil who tried to save him, to make a better bargain?" 

"Linwe knew that the time might save your life. He held the command, and agreed to the escort." 

"And the arrows, and moonstones?" 

Elrond shook his head. "They have agreed to provide the moonstones, but are haggling over the size of the chest." 

Thranduil hissed in irritation, wishing that he could pace or roll his eyes. Elrond reached out to soothe him again, explaining, "The arrows they have denied, saying that Fror did not have the authority to offer them, as they take so long to make and require the services of the greatest craftsmen." Elrond paused. 

"But?" Thranduil prompted. 

"But, there were five arrows used to kill Asgareth, and of those, three were salvageable. Fror's bodyguards gave them into Linwe's keeping. They sit in the storerooms below your halls." 

Thranduil laughed painfully. "Not worth the price." 

"No. But, something." 

Thranduil found the strength within him to ask, "Elrond? Am I going to recover from this? Well enough to lead my elves into battle again?" 

Elrond didn't hesitate. "Yes. Or rather, it depends on how much stubborn determination you can bring to the task of healing." Elrond smiled wryly, "So I think that you should be fine, in time." 

"How much time?" 

Instead of answering immediately, Elrond took off his robes, and then his tunic. Thranduil watched with interest as his cousin's undershirt followed. He had not often seen Elrond naked. Perhaps for swimming, or maybe when Elrond had been injured during the war, but not for long. There were some scars - maybe more than on a normal warrior elf, but they would heal in time, even for Elrond. It just took longer, from what Thranduil understood. 

"Watch carefully, Thraduil. I will only do this once." Elrond said. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Thranduil watched, as the smooth, unmarred skin over the ribs on Elrond's right side turned into a gaping, burning, hole. The gross, terrifying not-wound continued over Elrond's right hip down under his leggings. Elrond took another deep breath, and smooth skin rippled over the wound again. It was as if it had never been. 

"And that, Thranduil," Elrond said softly, his own eyes haunted, "is a burn from dragon fire, which destroyed bone and damaged organs. It took me only seven years to heal well enough to return to battle, but then I had the advantage of healers who had been trained by the Valar and Maiar, and...and I had Elros, and some of the strength of our Maia heritage, as well." 

"I'm sorry." Thranduil offered. It seemed like a weak thing to say, but he truly was. Elrond's tension eased. He smiled fondly at Thranduil, "It is kind of you, to worry about my wound from two ages ago. Your own wounds will heal, dear cousin, if you are determined to succeed in making it so. But it will take time, possibly a decade or more. It will take my assistance, and that of your healers, and even Galadriel." 

True, dragons were worse than Celeborn's annoying wife. Still, it was rather a joke, at this point, "Must she come?"

"Fifteen years, at least, without her. Dragon wounds are magical. Her assistance would make it so that I could concentrate on other parts of your healing. It would save time." 

Time was important. And Thranduil would have every excuse to behave appallingly. "Tell....I suppose Legolas, to extend an invitation." It would be the first time Galadriel had come to his Wood since before Legolas had reached the age of reason. Thranduil wondered what they would think of eachother. He wasn't sure he cared. He'd care later. She'd best not predict death, or disaster, or...or dwarves, for his son! 

"No, Thranduil." Elrond said gently. "Once you are well enough to travel, we will go to Imladris. I have more power there." 

"I don't want to be healed by your ring, Elrond. I don't trust it." 

Elrond sighed. "It is not entirely the ring, Thranduil. I have more power in the land I have loved, protected, and ruled for thousands of years, than I have anywhere else. As do you, here. There is a reason we will stay here until you are out of danger, and why we will return here before your healing is complete." 

It was hard, so hard, to trust someone else. But Thranduil was in pain, and he did trust Elrond. "It shall be as you say, cousin." He agreed, closing his eyes wearily. 

"It will be well, Thranduil, in time. You will see." Elrond promised. Thranduil believed him; he had never known Elrond to break such a promise. 

"I will send Legolas in." 

"Yes. And Thalion, when he returns. Oh, and Elrond?" Thranduil asked, stopping his older cousin at the door.

"Yes, Thranduil?" 

"Will I be able to do that?" Thranduil used his good hand to gesture at Elrond's side, with its magical disappearing dragon-fire scar. Elrond smiled slightly and shook his head, "Perhaps. It depends on how good a patient you will be." 

Thranduil sighed, and began to calm himself, so as to put on an act of feeling better than he did for his youngest son, who had certainly suffered enough these last months. At least he could trust Elrond to keep the visit short, and to pull Legolas away if the youth became overwrought. Thranduil, himself, would not become upset. He would not let himself. He had to be strong. He had no choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are so inclined, I always love encouraging words. Either way, thanks so much for reading, I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter!


	14. Mountains of Mourning, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climbing a mountain turned out to be the easiest part of a trip to visit the ruins of Legolas' childhood home. To be fair, not even Thranduil had expected the demon-ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This story is set in approximately the summer of T.A. 3021. The demon ghosts in this story are barrow-wights, or something similar. I must apologize for coming up with a non-canon river to flow from Emyn Duir towards the south of Greenwood. I needed one, and it's not beyond belief that there would be a small river on the other side of a mountain range.
> 
> A/N 2: All of Legolas' cousins, and a number of these other elves, are descended from Emma and Kaylee's original elven characters in the Greenwood. Their original characters are wonderfully detailed and brought to life, and I'm grateful that Emma and Kaylee let me use them in my AU. My versions of these characters and their descendants are not what Emma and Kaylee's elves will be like in the Third and Fourth Ages, although I've tried to get the characterizations right. Emma and Kaylee's stories set in Doriath can be found here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743
> 
>  
> 
> Quote:
> 
> “Green was the silence, wet was the light,  
> the month of June trembled like a butterfly.” - Pablo Neruda

Legolas took a deep breath of clean, rain-scented air as he pulled himself up to another mossy foothold half-way up the highest mountain of Emyn Duir, the Dark Mountains of the Greenwood. It felt good to stretch his body to its limits, pitting himself against this mountain and climbing high above the trees. 

At the top of this mountain stood the ruins of the castle where Legolas had been born, almost five hundred years ago at the end of the Watchful Peace. This would be their fourth day of climbing up the mountain to explore those ruins, and then climbing back down the mountain to camp on one of the lower hills for the night. Sauron's creatures had not made themselves as much at home in Emyn Duir as they had in Dol Guldur, what had once been Amon Lanc. But they had corrupted it. It was safe enough now, during the day, at least for seasoned warriors, but Legolas was not willing to risk it, at night. No matter how much he wanted to finish an initial survey of the site before his father's retinue arrived on their way to the east bight to conclude a treaty with the Woodmen. 

"Passing to your right!" Called a powerful soprano voice from just below Legolas, interrupting his thoughts. 

He turned to watch with stunned surprise as Baeraeriel, his cousin, officer and sometimes-senior officer, climbed past him, found a secure foothold, then smoothly hauled up a rope with Eowyn clinging tightly to the end. 

"Lifting Eowyn bodily up the cliff is cheating, Baeraeriel!" Legolas scolded. To liven up the climb the past two days, they'd make it a bit of a race up to the point where the climb became too dangerous for such a competition, even for nimble elves and the athletic and graceful Faramir and Eowyn. 

Legolas heard a huff of a laugh from Faramir, just below and to the left of him. 

"We didn't set any rules, Las." Faramir pointed out, as his wife unrepentantly grinned down at the both of them from the ledge where they had agreed to stop before attempting the final climb. 

"Ah, well. We won yesterday." Leglas conceded. It had been his suggestion to switch teams today, as Faramir was just a better climber than Eowyn. But Baeraeriel, who viewed Eowyn as a tolerable protege of sorts, had said him nay, and asserted that the ladies could win. And they had. Legolas had to applaud Baeraeriel for that creativity - normally adherence to rules and stubbornness were her strong points. And he had to admire Eowyn, actually, for not being too proud to get pulled up the mountain like a sack of potatoes. She was a good climber, for a human. But Legolas still kept an eye on her, and on Faramir, as they ascended the final crooked, wet length to the top of the cliff. 

Baeraeriel led the way, because she knew this climb better than Legolas, and because she was not Thranduil's heir and it was not worth fighting about. Then Faramir, who was an exceptionally good climber for a human, even better than Aragorn. Legolas followed Faramir, so that he could give Eowyn beneath him a hand should she need one. Baeraeriel's younger brother Televegil followed behind Eowyn, likely chafing not to be in the lead, and not to have been part of their races on the lower part of the mountain. The first day, Televegil had been climbing too fast and too far ahead, despite Baeraeriel's and Theli's yelling up at him not to. Televegil had slipped and been narrowly caught by Faramir, and Baeraeriel had decreed that her brother would climb more slowly, thereafter. Legolas had felt no need to overrule her. 

Theli gamely brought up the rear. Of the elves, he was probably the least skillful climber. But he was also the oldest, and the steadiest. If Eowyn were to slip, or Faramir, Theli made a good last surety. 

Legolas felt as if he had spent most of this season climbing, and was well content to have it be so. Together with Faramir and Eowyn, he had visited Helm's Deep in the early summer, and scaled those cliffs with Gimli and his pick-axe. Legolas fondly recalled the sweat and sun baked rock, and the sound of Gimli's deep laugh. They had taught Eowyn how to climb, then. A good pupil she had proven to be, 'else she would not be with them now, creeping from slick handhold to damp, treacherous foothold on this greener, wetter mountain. 

After that, Legolas had spent the bulk of the summer at his new settlement in Ithilien, continuing the work of healing the forest there with his foster-brother Thalion and the other elves who had joined them, including Baeraeriel as one of his Captains and Televegil as a forester and sometimes-bodyguard. It was good, to be able to heal a forest which still had enough of hope in it to appreciate the healing. Good, also, to be close enough to his sworn-brother the new King of Men that Legolas could visit Aragorn whenever the urge struck. Living close to Faramir and Eowyn, who had invited Legolas and his people to settle in Ithilien, was pleasant as well. 

Legolas had missed his dwarven friend. Except for their one visit to Helm's Deep and Aglarond at the start of the summer, Legolas had not seen Gimli at all over the season. Their comrade was as busy getting his new settlement up and running in Aglarond as Legolas and Faramir were in Ithilien, only possibly more so as Gimli had gotten a later start. Still, Aglarond was closer to Ithilien than it was to Greenwood, and there was every certainty that they would see Gimli again when matters had progressed in Aglarond. He still had projects of his own on-going in Minas Tirith, after all. 

All throughout the spring and summer, Legolas' elves and Faramir's folk had worked closely together, and with Faramir and Eowyn when the King's Steward and the Queen's Lady could spare the time. Faramir, in particular, had been kept busy with preparations for the mid-summer council and his other duties in Minas Tirith. Legolas, with the capable Thalion as his chief advisor and regent, had found himself with more liberty. 

When Legolas learned that his father would be sending an expedition to begin excavating and possibly rebuilding the Greenwood elves' early Third Age and Watchful Peace capitol at Emyn Duir on the way to treat with the Woodsmen of the East Bight, Legolas had swiftly decided to delegate the leadership of Ithilien to Thalion's capable hands. It was very important to Legolas, to return to the site of his earliest memories and see what might be salvaged of the home where he and his family had been happy together, before his mother and siblings had been killed by orcs and spiders. 

Legolas did not want to go back to Emyn Duir alone, or even alone but for his father and whoever might accompany Thranduil from the North Hall. They all had their own burdens to carry, and Legolas found himself deeply desiring the company of someone who could help him carry his own. But Aragorn and Arwen were expecting a child, and rulers of Gondor besides. Gimli was occupied in Aglarond, and Faramir and Eowyn in Ithilien. Elrohir and Elladan were in Imladris, reluctantly trying to take their father's place. And besides, if Legolas were to show up in Emyn Duir with the Elrondion twins, he wasn't entirely sure that his father wouldn't take it into his mind to have one- or both- of them sent right back away. There would be drama and pain enough, without that, although for a perverse few moments Legolas did consider writing to Elrohir. It was probably for the best that they were so far away. 

Thalion was not far away, but Legolas would not want to go with his foster-brother to Emyn Duir. The two of them had made progress, in soothing over old wounds and becoming friends, but going back to Emyn Duir where all of their pain had started was not something which Legolas particularly wanted to do. And there was no need to discuss it, because one of Thalion or Legolas really ought to stay in Ithilien-en-Edhil. Thalion's wife Rian was carrying their first child, which made him the obvious choice even if he wasn't a better administrator than Legolas, and even if Legolas didn't outrank him. 

Before leaving Gondor, Legolas had made a quick detour to Emyn Arnen to notify Faramir of his departure, as a courtesy. Aragorn and Arwen had been visiting their Steward. The King and Queen had, to Legolas' surprise, and that of Faramir and Eowyn, determined that Faramir and Eowyn should join Legolas on his journey to the mountains of Greenwood. 

"I have once again been relying on our dear Prince overmuch." Aragorn had confessed to Legolas, after sending the bemused but willing Faramir and Eowyn off to supervise their own packing and preparations for departure. "Faramir is wearied. The summer council sessions are over, and this is as good a time as any to be without him. He needs a break, and Eowyn could use one as well." 

Together with a small contingent of the White Company, Legolas, Faramir and Eowyn had traveled from Emyn Arnen north and east along the Anduin, stopping to visit Faramir's former garrison at Henneth Annun. Faramir left his White Company guards there, and Legolas elected not to wait for the companions Thalion had intended to send along with him. Faramir and Eowyn were as capable as elven warriors, in their own ways. It was unlikely that they would encounter any threat that could defeat the three of them, moving swiftly on re-mounts from Eowyn's new stables at Emyn Arnen. 

The three of them, six horses, and Eowyn's cat Smaug continued to travel the route along the River Anduin, stopping again to inspect the rebuilding at Cair Andros, to the surprised welcome of the garrison there. Then they went further up the Anduin, past the Nindalf marshes, sometimes called the Wet Wang. They explored the ruins of Emyn Muil and Amon Hen, staying at the latter long enough to raise a small cairn and plant a bed of wildflowers at the site of Boromir's brave last stand. 

At Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings, they tarried long enough to climb up each of the great statutes. Legolas would never forget diving off of Isildur's regal nose into the deep Anduin far below, while Faramir across from him leapt from Anarion's crown. Eowyn had joined him and Faramir in leaping off of Isildur's sword pommel earlier in that day, but had declined to dive from as high as the statues' heads. Eowyn had learned a sense of her own limits, during and after the war. Perhaps more than he and Faramir had, even, but they all three knew that these days were numbered. Faramir and Eowyn would have children soon enough, and would not be able to depart on journeys across Middle Earth, leaping off of great monuments and free-climbing mountains. 

"Well, I see no reason why we can't free-climb mountains." Eowyn had disagreed, when the three of them sat around their camp fire that night, hair drying in the warmth of the warmth of the safe smoke beneath the bright stars. "Or even go thrill-seeking by jumping off of giant statutes, provided that it is just one of us at a time. And we are not in such a hurry to have children, Legolas." 

"Aragorn was." Legolas pointed out, not sure whether he was agreeing or disagreeing.

"As he himself so often likes to remind Eowyn and I," Faramir remarked with an engaging grin, "Aragorn is near three times my age, and over three times Eowyn's." 

"And Arwen would have wanted to have longer, just the two of them." Eowyn said softly, "Except..." her eyes moved to Faramir for a moment, before ending, "They have no heir, and there was - is- pressure on them, to have that surety. Pressure from many quarters." 

Before Legolas could ponder the meaning of that look, Faramir distracted him by vowing, "We will make sure that Aragorn still has time, for the activities he enjoys. He will still be able to hunt and camp with you, and go on adventures."

If anyone was in a position to make that promise and keep it, it was Faramir. The Steward had already been known to send Aragorn out of the city with Legolas and Gimli, or Elladan and Elrohir, on the pretext that the King was no help at anything without the occasional ramble in the countryside. Legolas, who had known Aragorn since the King of Men was a little younger than Eowyn, could easily believe that to be true. 

But still, "He will have a child..." Legolas reminded Faramir, speaking from centuries of experience with human friends and comrades, who, once they became fathers, had little time for an elven companion who was yet unmarried, and who yet had a young man's freedom.

"He will still be Aragorn." Eowyn said, compassionate but not pitying. "He will still thrill to be outside, and to push himself to the limits sparring with you. He will have Arwen, and Faramir and I, and his brothers, and many other companions and friends to help care for his children. And you to entertain them as well, sometimes, so that he might play chess with Gimli or Faramir. And we will watch his son, so that you might have time with him, as well." 

"Aragorn has a good eighty years left to him, Legolas." Faramir chided, "And he is no ordinary man. Things will change, yes, but you are not losing him."

"We will see." Legolas conceded. At his friends' unimpressed looks and Smaug's pausing in her grooming to give him a yellow-eyed glare, Legolas managed a laugh. "Very well, I accept that you make good arguments, the both of you, and I will wait and see, and not mourn the death of an era before its time." 

"Oh, we should drink to the end of an era." Faramir disagreed, pulling out a flask of honey mead, "But not the end of a friendship, or even the end of some of the joys of that friendship." 

They drank, and Legolas was grateful for the balm of Faramir's and Eowyn's companionship. Faramir, who was much like Aragorn but with a more subtle sense of humor, and Eowyn who shone like the sun in the summer light. Indeed, during their trip, Legolas felt as if some of the sharp edges cut into his heart and spirit by the war and centuries of battle were smoothed out. Faramir and Eowyn, like him, had grown up in the throes of a life-or-death struggle. They had been born on an embattled border between the lands controlled by the Enemy and those nominally controlled by their allies. Legolas had only ever had such a commonality with the few elves of his acquaintance who had been born, like him, at the very end of the Watchful Peace. But soon after meeting him, the distance of him being the Prince, or even just the difference of him being a gifted archer and a beginning soldier who could nonetheless identify the long-term strategies being made by their leaders, had left him somewhat isolated, even from those peers. 

Legolas' elflinghood had never been the same after the death of his mother and siblings when he had been a mere twenty one years of age, the equivalent of a seven year old human boy. Few other elves had suffered such a loss at such an age, but Eowyn....Eowyn's father had died fighting orcs when she had been just seven years old. Her mother had died of grief, while Legolas' father Thraduil had endured. But Thranduil had been greatly changed, and saddened, by that experience. 

Faramir's mother had died when he was five, taken by her own frailty. Sauron had had a hand in that death as well, in the suspicious deaths of several talented midwives and healers in Gondor just before the Lady Finduilas gave birth to the Steward's elder brother Boromir, a long ordeal which had left her wounded in body. 

"If Aragorn had returned in time for the birth, he might have been able to spare her pain and harm." Legolas had ventured, one night along the river when they spoke of that loss. 

"Yes, but Thorongil and Denethor were both detained, fighting against a large and unexpectedly aggressive orc incursion in the Lebennin." Faramir said, his voice unreadable. 

"I still cannot believe that you had not realized that Aragorn was Thorongil, 'ere I told you this past spring." Legolas remarked in an attempt to lighten the mood, unable to hide a smile at how ridiculous Faramir's ignorance had been. 

Eowyn winced, and Faramir turned a peculiar shade of pale, before rallying indignantly. "Yes, well, I've had a few other things on my mind, Legolas."

"Oh, not so much, really." Legolas had teased, "Just helping Aragorn to rule a Kingdom, beginning to bring centralized organization back to Arnor, fighting off an invasion by the Easterlings..."

"Establishing a settlement proper at Emyn Arnen, and others throughout old Ithilien, enlarging the White Company, liaising with your folk...." Eowyn continued, toeing her husband with one slender boot, and then tickling him until Faramir laughed too. 

So did the nights pass, in laughter and heart-baring conversations which drew out pain. More, Legolas realized for the first time that a wife could be more than just a friend in castle and keep. Eowyn was that, yes, but she was also Faramir's companion on adventures. She added to their journeys, rather than just kept Faramir at home more often. For the first time, Legolas saw himself as someday taking a wife, if having a wife could be like having a friend to journey with instead of just one to come home to. 

During the days, and sometimes on moon-bright nights, Legolas and his two friends kept following the broad blue ribbon of the Anduin. They traveled through the barren Brown Lands, where the Entwives' nurseries had been burned out by Sauron's forces during the War of the Last Alliance, to make it harder for the Allied Armies to provision themselves as they marched through. The opening stages of that war had been fought over the Brown Lands, ruining them further. It was in that desolate place that Smaug the Cat truly proved her value as a companion on their journey. 

Legolas had been skeptical of the cat's joining them on the trip, when he first saw her being accommodated in a saddle pack of Eowyn's for the journey. 

"I do not believe that this will be a journey fit for a house tabby, Eowyn." Legolas had criticized. 

"Smaug goes where she wills." Faramir had disagreed, saving Eowyn the trouble.

Throughout their trek, Legolas had most often taken on the task of hunting. Faramir almost invariably cooked, and Eowyn would usually see to the horses and help Faramir with the other tasks of setting up camp. That gave them time alone to do the other things that a newly married couple of just a little over a year were wont to do, while Legolas rambled the wilderness around them in search of a few old or unwise animals for their night's dinner. Smaug, equally as disenchanted with the antics of the newly-weds, would often join Legolas in his hunting. At first, he did not like it, for she would spook the animals. Then he realized that Smaug was trying to spook the animals in the right direction, and, though he did not need the aid, he had to appreciate the intention and the effort. 

In the Brown Lands, even Legolas had trouble finding food. The first night, after a disappointing foray, he returned to the camp to find Faramir and Eowyn unaccustomedly somber. They used the dried rations they'd had little need for until that point. The following night, Legolas failed again to find any game large enough to merit an arrow. It was Smaug who showed up at their fire that night with a very slender rabbit, a large mole, and a few gamey mice. Cleaned and properly stewed with vegetables and herbs, they proved far better fare than dried goods, and so they were able to eke out their supplies as they crossed that old, sad battle field. Faramir and Legolas had both gotten by on worse, and Eowyn was a good sport about most any type of hardship. Still, none of them were sorry to leave the Brown Lands. 

Faramir did turn to look back as they rode on. "I would very much like to see this barren place green and growing again someday." 

"Well, that's a project which should keep you out of trouble." Legolas teased. 

"Or in it." Quipped Eowyn. 

Faramir laughed tolerantly at the both of them, before telling Eowyn, "Not in our lifetime, I think, meleth." 

It was entirely true that Faramir had more than one more mortal life's worth of work he'd already taken on. Legolas tried not to dwell on on the thought that he would lose Faramir, Eowyn, and Aragorn all to the Halls of Mandos in little more than a century. Instead, he resolved to mention to the Brown Lands to his father. 

Legolas had begun to doubt that he would be able to tarry on Middle Earth long enough to see all of the Greenwood cleansed, let alone the Brown Lands. The sea called to him already, and had since he first heard the cries of the gulls by the Pelargir. It was not that difficult to ignore the call, while he was with his mortal friends. They had so little time left, and their concerns were set on the here and now. In Ithilien near the Anduin, it was easier to ignore the call. It shouldn't be - for that great river led to the sea. But it was almost as if, knowing that he could choose any day it pleased him to travel down the river and take ship for the West, that very knowledge let Legolas go about his life without worrying about the Call. It was when Legolas was with his father's people in the Wood, hearing their plans for bringing health back to the trees he had loved and mourned for all of his life, that the Call pulled on him the most strongly. His father's plans and the plans of his people stretched out over centuries, for they had centuries. And Legolas was not sure that he could stay on Middle Earth, for that long. Every time someone spoke of a grove which would need cleansing for over two hundred years, he felt as if the sea were whispering in his ear that the time had come for him to sail.

But traveling with Faramir and Eowyn, those thoughts were not overwhelming. At the Field of Celebrant they left the river, to travel to the Greenwood. Which was now called the Wood of Greenleaves, and the Mirkwood no longer, though it was dangerous still to travelers. Had his companions not been a great Captain of Gondor and a shieldmaiden of Rohan, Legolas would have led them on a longer but easier path, further up the Anduin to the old Forest Road. As it was, they left their horses at a settlement maintained by the elves at the gate of the forest, and then traveled over the highway of trees, far above the forest loam. Not as swiftly as had they all been elves, but fast indeed for humans. Legolas did not mind the slower pace as much as he had thought that he might - it gave him a chance to see how the forest was healing, which places were recovering well, and which places would need more assistance from his father and their people. 

They stopped in the south of the Greenwood, at Celeborn's new kingdom of East Lorien, where now Celeborn's adopted son Haldir and Haldir's wife Silwen ruled as regents while Celeborn oversaw the journey of more of his Galadhrim from Lothlorien to East Lorien. Haldir and Silwen's one year old son Laeriant had just learned to dance, and they sang and played and danced there under the stars, in a land which only a year and a half ago would have been infested with spiders and orcs and trying to kill them. 

Haldir was Faramir's - and Eowyn's - first cousin some thirty six times removed, related to them through the marriage of Mithrellas of Lorien to Imrazor, the first Prince of Dol Amroth. Haldir did not think it was safe for the Prince of the Greenwood and the Prince of Ithilien and his Lady to travel through the Wood, just the three of them. It so happened that Haldir's cousin Ecthelion, called Theli, and Legolas' cousins Baeraeriel and Televegil were all in East Lorien. 

Theli, a healer and a Lord of the Greenwood, was on his way back to the Northern Hall after a long visit to Imladris to aid in the birth of Haldir's new nieces, Gailistiel and Galathwinn, to Haldir's younger brother Orophin and Orophin's wife Eilunwen. 

"Lieutenant Drystan, Eilunwen's father, has already nicknamed his little granddaughters Lisi and Gala." Theli explained, after Haldir complained about his brother's propensity to be long-winded even in the naming of his children. 

"Did you and Elladan manage to stop arguing long enough to decide who would catch which babe?" Legolas asked, his amusement at that long-lived rivalry between the two healers overcoming his unmarried male's relative unease with the realm of childbirth. 

Theli grinned and tossed a heel of bread at his Prince. "'Twas no need to argue. I am the more experienced with attending at childbirth, so I supervised. Elladan and I get on well enough as healers, at least until we're out of earshot of a patient." 

"Since you are at loose ends now, cousin, you can keep Legolas, Faramir and Eowyn company on their way to Emyn Duir." Haldir decided, in his abrupt and authoritative way. 

Theli seemed pleased to do so, and Baeraeriel had already decided that she and Televegil would do the same. Baeraeriel and Televegil had stopped in East Lorien en route back to Ithilien-en-Edhil after a visit to their mother Glasseithel and younger sister Alagossiel at the Northern Hall, in celebration of Alagossiel's elevation to the title of Junior Healer. 

"So it seems that Lady Wild has finally settled down then?" Legolas asked. Alagossiel was his closest in age cousin. Alagossiel's last years as a student with the royal tutor Noruichand had overlapped with Legolas' first, and his beautiful cousin had been Legolas' first crush. He'd never spoken of it to anyone, until Faramir and Eowyn on this very trip. Alagossiel had viewed Legolas only as a younger cousin. Alagossiel, Televegil, and Baeraeriel's father, Celuvor, also a healer, had died with Legolas' mother and siblings. In the wake of that tragedy, Baeraeriel had thrown herself even more fiercely into her career as a military officer, Televegil had left his studies as a forester to join the army, and Alagossiel had dedicated herself to dancing, flirting, and causing scandal after scandal with a succession of eligible young ellyn, until Thanduil considered ordering her to go on a dangerous journey to Imladris, where she could be Elrond's problem for a century or so. 

With Theli, Televegil and Baeraeriel to aid in scouting ahead of them, Legolas and his party made even better time than he had expected on their way through the forest, even with a stop at the home of Grimbeorn, son of Beorn, where they stayed a night with the elves' age-old allies the Beornings. They feasted on the Beornings' famous honey-cakes, and spoke and played with his animals under the warm afternoon sun and the bright moon. Eowyn befriended a tawny owl in the Beornings' long house, and it had followed them as they continued on through the Wood, crossed the old Forest Road, and climbed through the lower peaks of Emyn Duir, arriving there well ahead of Legolas' father and his retinue. 

Thranduil's letter had disclosed his plans to stop briefly at Emyn Duir on their way to treat with the Woodmen in the East Bight, and to leave there a force to garrison one of the lower foothills of Emyn Duir. Among other tasks, those elven soldiers would begin to explore the old castle and capitol of Emyn Duir, and see whether some of it might be reclaimed, as it had been during the Watchful Peace. Thranduil himself and a smaller company would travel further south to meet with the Woodmen, and negotiate a new treaty with their leader. 

"I have never heard of him before." Eowyn had asked in East Lorien. "Nor much at all of their people." 

"The Woodmen are fairly secretive, but strong allies of the Beornings and long-time if difficult allies of my father and the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien." Legolas had explained. "They are led by a Chief Gorand, son of Gorand, all the way back to the first Gorand, during the Second Age, when they first started to forest here and make their farms to feed their Woodmen." 

"And to feed our people as well, Legolas, for many of us had become fond of mannish foods and beverages during the War." Theli pointed out fairly. 

Legolas nodded, for that was true enough. "Ada doesn't particularly like them, though that alliance and those foodstuffs have made it easier for our far-flung patrols, and now East Lorien's, to operate so far from the Northern Hall." 

"Your father does not like them." Theli agreed in a tone of fond resignation. "In fact, he has over the centuries found most of the Chiefs Gorand so irritating that a fair amount of Lady Lothgail's role on this trade mission will be to keep our King from making his annoyance and impatience plain to the current Gorand and the Woodmen." Theli had shrugged, and then smiled, "Every six hundred years or so, Thranduil meets a Chief Gorand whom he really likes. Maybe Lothgail and Lord Celeborn will get lucky, and this will be one of those Gorands." 

Legolas had been glad that he would be in Emyn Duir, and having none of the trip to meet Chief Gorand. Keeping his father's irritation with those whom he perceived as fools in check was, in Legolas' opinion, properly a job for Thranduil's older advisors and near-age cousins, the ones who had been alive during the reign of Legolas' grandfather Oropher. In fact, Legolas felt a bit sorry for cousin Lothgail, whose father normally undertook these trips with Thranduil. But he was occupied in Laketown, and Lothgail, despite only having been born at the beginning of the Third Age, could more than hold her own. She was in many ways the opposite of Baeraeriel, inclined to honey instead of vinegar, but she was equally as formidable in her own way. 

From the carefully neutral expression Legolas had observed on Faramir's face when they discussed the Gorands, the Steward was just as happy not to have anything to do with that particular trip. Keeping the peace between the Woodmen, the Elves, and the delegation whom Aragorn and Faramir had sent to the East Bight would be a challenge, and Faramir likely had enough challenges keeping Aragorn and the Lords and powerful men of Gondor and Arnor more or less at peace with one another. 

Legolas had fallen into a trance of sorts as they climbed, thinking of their journey with one part of his mind while the other part found handholds and footholds and looked out for Eowyn and Faramir to make sure that they were safely doing the same. His attention returned to the here and now as Baeraeriel called a halt to find a better way around a loose boulder. Legolas took the opportunity to gaze out over the sun rising above the dark green forest and the clearing mist. A hundred yards to their left, a slender waterfall cascaded from the remains of the castle down several miles to crash tumultuously into the Calenduin, the Green River which flowed from the mountains down to the south of the Wood. The Calenduin was smaller than the Enchanted River on the other side of the Mountains, which linked Emyn Duir to the Forest River and to the Northern Hall. 

This slender but long waterfall had played a role in the castle's downfall. Several of the castles' cisterns had drained into the waterfall, including one located in a room used by the alchemists to concoct potions for the healers and chemical weapons for the army. Legolas' cousin Elladan had later argued, quietly, that the design had been poorly thought out. It had never caused a problem, at least not that Legolas knew of, until the day when he had accidentally dropped a pot of condensed chemicals mimicking the pheromones of the giant spiders into a sink which drained into that cistern. The spider attractant had flowed out of the waterfall and into the Calenduin, luring male spiders from all over the Wood to the river and eventually to Emyn Duir. 

During the rest of the Third Age, elven warriors had used the spider attractant to systematically thin the Wood's population of male spiders. They had even developed a less effective version of the female pheromone, which had enabled them to kill a fair number of breeding females at times and places of their own choosing. 

The castle and the capitol at Emyn Duir would have had to have been abandoned after the Watchful Peace ended, anyway. And Legolas had only been helping Elladan and Elrohir with their chemical weapon research project by stirring mixtures, holding vials and pots, and finding them a small, male spider (Legolas had named it Scuttles). Thalion had not intended to startle Legolas so badly that he dropped the pot into the sink. Dropping a pot into a sink should not, in the ordinary way of things, have led to an invasion of spiders. But it had. 

Legolas' involvement in the incident, and Thalion's, was a closely-held secret. Elrohir and Elladan had accepted all of the responsibility, and Thranduil's court and capitol had moved, swiftly, towards their Northern Hall. Thranduil had never forgotten the incident nor entirely forgiven it. He had forgiven Legolas' part in it, and Thalion's, quite easily. But it had taken several hundred years before Thranduil could see Elrond's twin sons both in his Kingdom at the same time without twitching. 

Baeraeriel whistled, apparently still having trouble with the climb. Theli called that he was coming up, and climbed past Televegil. He paused by Eowyn and Legolas, and helped to tie a rope between them. Then he took over the lead from Baeraeriel. 

"I thought she was the better mountain climber." Gasped Eowyn from just below Legolas' right foot. 

"She is," Legolas agreed, looking down with a grin, "But Baeraeriel only spent a few hundred years here. Theli has lived in Emyn Duir, on and off, for the better part of two thousand years. Climbing this mountain used to be a punishment for the King's soldiers when they erred, and so Theli knows the best routes very well." 

Theli managed to find a safe route around the loose section, and in a matter of minutes they were at the top of the cliff, at the fallen wall which had once encircled the castle. They split up into two groups, Eowyn going with Theli and Televegil to check the availability of fresh water in the area which had once housed the King's horses and hounds, and Legolas leading Faramir and Baeraeriel back towards the dilapidated upper sections of the castle. Legolas would have preferred to have taken Televegil with them, rather than Baeraeriel. Actually, he would have preferred to have taken anyone but Baeraeriel or Theli, who were the most likely to object to any given part of their exploration as too dangerous or unwise without further support. 

But Theli had objected to Legolas' initial proposal of himself, Televegil, and Faramir as one group on the first day of their explorations. Baeraeriel and Televegil did not question Theli's reorganization of their party, although Televegil looked disappointed.

If Faramir and Eowyn had thought it odd that a healer and junior Lord of Greenwood would overrule the Kingdom's Crown Prince, they were too polite to say so. And Legolas, unable to figure out how to adequately explain Theli's role in his life as healer/former elfling-minder/ sometimes-tutor/sometimes-senior officer/sometimes-disgraced subordinate, had declined to explain. 

In their survey, Legolas, Faramir and Baeraeriel had not managed to get so far as the rooms where Legolas and his family had lived. Nor did Legolas think that they would be able to before another week had passed, if those top-most floors were even passable at all. But after a few hours and a brief break for a meal, they did manage to find what was left of the Archives. 

Faramir exclaimed like a child in a sweets shop, and went dashing to and fro picking up scroll cases. Baeraeriel followed him, snapping off orders about making sure that different sections of the room and shelving were safe, and reminding Faramir that they couldn't take with them more than they could carry down the mountain at the end of the day. Faramir then turned his attention to how to better waterproof any remaining scrolls and tablets, while Baeraeriel struggled for patience. 

Legolas grinned fondly at their antics, until he noticed the sunlight through the broken windows glinting off of something on the floor. Bending to pick it up, Legolas felt hot and cold all over as he realized that he was holding a writing tool which had belonged to his next oldest brother Lithidhren. It was a hollow metal tube which came apart at the middle, so that a specially treated wooden vial of ink could be placed within it to flow out of the tip of the pen when forcefully applied to parchment. It was a very useful tool, a gift from a friend of Lithidhren's in Laketown, and Legolas' scholarly brother had prized it. In a daze, Legolas pulled out a tight roll of parchment which Faramir had insisted he carry in his belt-pouch, and pressed the tip of the metal quill to the pale surface. A thin line of black ink emerged, and Legolas felt his heart constrict until it was hard to breathe. 

Time passed, Legolas was unsure how much. The next thing he knew was Faramir's hand clasping his shoulder, and his friend's warm gray eyes regarding him with love and worry. 

"Lithidhren's metal quill." Legolas managed. 

"Ah." Said Faramir, squeezing Legolas' shoulder and putting his other hand under Legolas' elbow to raise him to his feet. 

Legolas placed the quill into his belt-pouch with numb fingers, then stumbled in the direction of what had once been an open glass breezeway to get some air. The hallway was blocked by a tumble of stone, so Legolas kept moving, walking up a narrow stair case to the next floor, and then down another into a courtyard. He heard Faramir call to him, but he didn't pause. He kept walking, to what had once been a fountain filled with fish and frogs. Now it was dry, except for dirt, dead leaves, the skeletons of small animals, and what looked like it might be a human femur. Legolas took a deep, harsh breath and looked up at the sky, arching above the white stone of the ruined walls and the green of the trees and moss which had grown up around them. The sky was blue, spotted with clouds, and it reminded Legolas of the peace that the defeat of Sauron and the last few years had brought them. Reminded him that there was hope, and that things could and would get better. That they could build something out of these ruins, banish the unsettling spirits and strange cold winds which danced amongst them. 

One of those winds blew against Legolas' back, whipping his hair and his braids into his left cheek and pushing him forward a step. The wind echoed eerily against the fallen columns and creeping vines and trees in the courtyard. Legolas felt uneasy enough to reach for his bow, and pull an arrow to the ready. 

A whisper, a shadow of a moan, drew his eyes to a half collapsed doorway leading toward the lower part of the castle. Nothing was there. He whirled back to face the fountain, wondering if the first sound had been a distraction. 

His father stood before him, in a soldier's green and brown, his own blade naked in his hand and his blue eyes blazing. 

"Legolas," Said Thranduil irritably, "What in the name of Orome are you doing here?" 

Legolas did not have a particularly good "short" answer to that question. Fortunately, Faramir's sudden appearance saved him from having to find one. 

"Legolas, I wish you wouldn't go on ahead like...." Faramir stopped, his bow also drawn, upon seeing Thranduil and Legolas. 

"Of course you would be here, too." Thranduil remarked in a resigned tone, as six or seven other elves, mostly the King's guards, also appeared in the ruined court yard. 

Faramir found Legolas' father to be rather unsettling. Thranduil seemed to find Faramir puzzling, so far as Legolas could tell, although he seemed to like Legolas' newest human sworn-brother well enough. Faramir looked as if he was trying to find something to say to defuse the situation, but he, too, was saved the trouble of that, by the return of Baeraeriel, accompanied by Theli, Eowyn, and Televegil. 

Thranduil's sword was back in his sheathe, but his eyes were quite hard as he regarded the six of them. Baeraeriel held her ground, but looked faintly ashamed of herself, Legolas wasn't entirely sure why. Televegil took a half-step behind his sister and Theli. Theli met Thranduil's regard with a sunny smile, one likely adopted in part to irritate the King. Eowyn smiled honestly, and came forward to greet Thranduil. 

Middle Earth's only remaining Elven King sighed, and went to embrace the White Lady. 

"Well-met, Princess." He greeted her, "But you should not be here. Not just you, my son, and these three." 

His last remark was directed mostly at Theli, who remarked, "It's getting near dusk." 

Thranduil glared at him for a moment, and then gave orders for all to withdraw, promising that they would continue their discussion back at his camp. 

"We're camped on the other side of the mountain, by the blue cave near the cedar grove where the spring comes up, leading down to the Calenduin." Legolas objected. 

Thranduil nodded towards two of his guards, who took off in the direction of Legolas' camp. 

"Please bring Smaug, my Lady's cat, if she is still there." Faramir asked. "Although if your camp has cook fires burning, she may already have found it." 

A fleeting smile passed over Thranduil's face at the mention of Smaug. Thranduil and Smaug and her kittens had made fast friends, during the elven-King's visit to Ithilien the previous spring. 

Legolas walked beside his father, as they clambered over the slightly less steep mountainside down toward the Enchanted River. 

Thranduil gave him a side-long glance, then rested an elegant, calloused hand on Legolas' shoulder. "I am glad to see you, you know." He told his youngest son.

"I know." Said Legolas with an almost impish smile, because he did know. His father was very glad to see him, and that was bound to offset any parental disapproval for Legolas' having taken it upon himself to explore the ruins with his small group before Thranduil and his company could arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you if you liked this chapter! Either way, thank you for reading!


	15. Mountains of Mourning, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter became longer than I had expected without getting to much of significance, but I hope that you enjoy it anyway! 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> Excerpt from "If" - by Rudyard Kipling 
> 
> 'If you can bear to watch the things you gave your life to, broken,  
>  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:....
> 
> If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew  
>  To serve your turn long after they are gone,  
> And so hold on when there is nothing in you  
>  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!” ....
> 
> Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,  
>  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!" - Excerpt from "If" - by Rudyard Kipling

"This is not where we had thought to see you again, Legolas. We had thought to find only ghosts in that place." Remarked one of Thranduil's chattier guards. Most of Legolas' father's bodyguards were contemporaries of Thranduil, or even older. Some of them had been with the King of Greenwood since before the War of the Last Alliance, when Thranduil had been only the Crown Prince and a young officer with a promising career in his father's army. These were not elves whose faces betrayed aught of their feelings unless they chose for them to, but Legolas could still tell that they were tense and ill-at-ease. Not merely because of his actions, but probably also because his father had decided to be in the vanguard of their expedition to explore the ruins of his former home.

Despite the unease, one of the youngest of their armed escort, a Lieutenant Orthadvren who had once been one of Legolas' brother Thandrin's friends, gave Legolas a reassuring wink. Orthadvren, once called Orthad the Orc-Slayer, had been a member of a mixed human and elven patrol during the years before the arrival of the great dragon Smaug. Legolas had been one of the most junior members of that unit, Erynion Lightning-Bow he had been called. The mixed group had been Theli's first - and only -command, and Baeraeriel's first stint as an officer. The Men of Laketown still told the stories of the Balrog-Chaser and Bloody Baeraeriel, and of Erynion Lightning-Bow and Orthad the Orc-Slayer. Gimli and his fellow dwarves knew those stories, and Gimli had been almost star-struck upon meeting Baeraeriel (although disappointed that her famous orc-tooth necklace was nothing more than cunningly wrought alabaster beads, a gift from Legolas' older brother Thandrin, made out of alabaster boxes and screens which had been given to Thranduil and Greenwood's Army after the War of the Last Alliance). 

The cooking fires and lamps of the camp gleamed through the gathering evening dusk. Voices floated in the air, far louder than the practiced hush of soldiers, and some of the lilting tones distinctly feminine. It seemed almost surreal to Legolas, although at first he couldn't put his finger on why. The guards and soldiers accompanying them relaxed as they proceeded past the sentry line, where stood a veritable dozen and a half tents and over fifty elves.

"More non-combatants than I think I've ever seen in a camp." Faramir murmured quietly beside Legolas. 

"This is what the Aran's traveling camps were like, before the first Siege." Explained one of the guards.

"Aye, and again during the Peace." Theli explained. 

Thranduil didn't pause on his way towards the largest tent, save to give directions for Legolas and his party to be properly accommodated. As they passed by the other fires, Legolas saw elves whose lives and livelihoods had once been in Emyn Duir. Lord Hithlamor, the only surviving son of Lord Tinnulamoor who had been Oropher's and then Thranduil's vassal-lord in Emyn Duir since the mid-Second Age, stepped up to greet his uncle, the venerable Captain Tundaer. That Captain, and several other officers whom Legolas remembered as having a connection to Emyn Duir, had been amongst the day's expeditionary force. 

Many of the fires and the greatest number of tents hosted carpenters, stone-workers, architects, and other elves adept at the building and shaping of dwellings. There were also foresters and scouts aplenty, and several priests and priestesses. 

"You truly mean to rebuild here." Legolas murmured in surprise. 

Thranduil arched an eyebrow as he strode through the camp, and Legolas saw his father's lips twitch upward fractionally. The answer was obvious, and Thranduil was surprised- and amused- that Legolas was surprised. 

The tents closest to Thranduil's were occupied by elves originally from the south of the Wood, near the East Bight, such as Lord Medlion and Lady Haldis, and by a more surprising company. 

"Lothgail! Brasseniel!" Legolas exclaimed in pleased surprise, as his two female cousins stood to greet him, fond, welcoming smiles on their pretty faces. 

Brasseniel, who was only a little older than Legolas' twin older sister Eryntheliel and middle brother Lithidhren, rushed forward to embrace him. Lothgail approached more decorously, but with an equally warm smile. Lothgail's younger brother and Brasseniel's older sister had died with Legolas' mother and siblings, leaving Lothgail fifth in line for the throne of Greenwood after Legolas and her own uncle and parents. Lothgail served on Thranduil's Council, and assisted her father with overseeing Greenwood's trade and commercial treaties. Several other ellith were in attendance upon Lothgail, including a seamstress whom Legolas recognized as having been one of Thandrin's friends.

Over a tumult of greetings, Legolas made sure that his cousins took Eowyn and Faramir under their wing and would help get them settled. Legolas himself followed his father into his tent with some trepidation, shaking his head as he heard Sergeant Renham lecturing Faramir and Eowyn about not wandering off in the Wood as if they were children rather than seasoned warriors and heroes of the Ring War.

"Renham has always been like that." Thranduil said with some amusement. "I fantasized about a wolf eating him during my first tour of duty with him as my training sergeant." 

Even knowing that he had earned a scolding, Legolas had to smile at the thought of a young version of his father dealing with lectures Thranduil didn't think that he needed. 

Thranduil lifted a brow in amusement. He sobered as he walked up to his traveling desk, and tapped a scroll pensively. Fixing Legolas with a piercing blue-eyed gaze, Thranduil asked, "What in my letter indicated that it would be a good idea for you and a mere handful of friends to embark on your own survey of a city occupied by our Enemies for most of your lifetime?" 

Legolas still didn't have a good answer to that question. Yet an answer of some kind was called for. 

"I did not think the matter through very well." Legolas confessed. 

"Clearly." 

Hiding a wince, Legolas explained, "I had thought that we would arrive after you, at which point the matter would have been moot as the survey would have already been in process." When Thranduil did not speak, Legolas expanded, "We made remarkably good time." 

"Remarkably." Thranduil agreed, slightly mocking, "How fortunate... so that you could make remarkably poor decisions upon your arrival." 

"There were no standing orders, not to go into the ruins at Emyn Duir." Legolas countered cautiously. 

Thranduil slammed his hand down upon the table. "I am not in the habit of making standing orders where common sense ought suffice! Nor am I accustomed to having one of my sons be the reason why I might need to!" Eyeing the anxious Legolas narrowly, Thranduil almost growled, "I think that Faramir may be a bad influence on you both." 

Legolas did not quite stifle a snort of laughter. Faramir had been only nine years old when he and his brother accidentally rescued Thalion, so that incident, at least on the rescuing Thalion side, could in no way be described as Faramir's fault. On the getting one another into danger side, Faramir and Legolas were more or less equal on that score, but Legolas did not think that it would improve his father's temper to point that out. So all he said was, "Faramir and Eowyn had no idea that this might be an unwise idea." 

"Oh, no?" Thranduil mocked dryly, "Does Aragorn encourage his Steward to go day-tripping into Minas Ithil, then?" 

Recognizing that he had adopted a losing position, Legolas decided to abandon it. "We should all, perhaps, have considered the idea more thoroughly." He confessed again, this time with more genuine penitence. "But we did not arrive in the ruins before true morning, or linger past dusk. It felt safe enough, to all of us." And they were a group who should know, better than anyone save Thranduil or Galadriel's students. Legolas and Theli both had a feel for the forest, and Faramir and Eowyn had a sensitivity to evil and dark creatures which had impressed even Lord Elrond. 

Thranduil tapped his fingers on his desk as he considered that. Apparently having come to the same conclusion about the relative safety of the ruins during the daylight hours, he did not contest it. "Still. I am not pleased with this, Legolas." 

Knowing that his father was an elf who viewed future actions as more important than repeated apologies, Legolas promptly pledged, "I will wait for more clear direction, 'ere returning to the castle at Emyn Duir." 

"Or, Belain all help you, Dol Guldur." Thranduil said darkly. 

Legolas paled. "Ada, I would not have gone there." 

Thranduil snorted. "I should hope not, but then I did not expect to find you here." Thranduil returned his attention to the scrolls on his desk, while Legolas waited before him. He knew not to hurry his father. 

Thranduil looked up, his blue gaze still stern but somehow also sympathetic. "I have decided that you will come with me to the East Bight to treat with the Gorand." 

"Adar!" Legolas exclaimed in horrified dismay, having trouble articulating why he didn't want to do that, save that he wanted to stay here, to explore and possibly reclaim their homeland. And that he did not want to go hammer out a new treaty with a strange group of humans whilst playing junior peacekeeper between his father and the Woodmen and the rest of Thranduil's staff, and whoever else would be there. 

"If you are about to argue that you must return to Ithilien-en-Edhil, Legolas, then I advise you to save your breath. You came here from your settlement, leaving Thalion to rule it in your stead, so clearly your presence is not required there at this time. You can come with me to the East Bight. Should something happen to me between now and the complete cleansing of the Wood, you would have to deal with these idiots anyway. And I doubt that healing Ithilien will take much more than a century and a half, so after that you will likely return to the Greenwood and take up more of the duties of being my heir in peace-time. Which," Thranduil said with clear distaste, "Includes treaties and making nice with folk who can't even feel the spirit of a tree." 

"Yes, Adar." Answered Legolas, because he didn't feel that he really had a choice. Being required to go with his father to attend treaty negotiations was, he had to admit, on the surface a fair consequence for having gone into Emyn Duir without waiting for Thranduil to arrive and allow it. However, Thranduil's other reasons for requiring Legolas to come to the East Bight, and the very thought of being away from his mortal friends, shook Legolas to his core. He could almost hear the crash of waves upon the sand, and bright voices singing from the West. Yet Legolas did not know how to tell his father that he would likely not be able to linger long enough to serve more fully as Thranduil's peace-time heir. Legolas had cowardly hoped that Aragorn or Elrond might have told Thranduil that Legolas was suffering from the sea-longing, even though Legolas had asked them both not to. In the shadow of Emyn Duir, in the lee of the very place where Legolas had tragically become Thranduil's only remaining blood heir, he did not feel as if he could disappoint his father. He would just have to stay, and do his best. As Thandrin, Eryntheliel, Lithidhren, and his mother would have wanted. 

"You may explore Emyn Duir more fully upon our return, Legolas." Thranduil assured him, seemingly torn between sympathy and the impression that Legolas was being over-dramatic. "And you may stay after I need to return to northern capital," Thranduil continued indulgently, "provided that you travel back south before winter. And I will see you again in the spring. I would not miss the birth of my first grandchild, after all." 

Legolas managed a small smile at that. Looking up at his father with mischief dancing in his jade green eyes, Legolas commented, "Arwen says that it will be a girl, and that she will have a son. Elrohir is pretending to match-make. Thalion is...." 

Thranduil chuckled, "No small amount overwhelmed, I am sure, and I am also sure that you are not helping matters." Eyeing Legolas with affectionate resignation, Thranduil said, "You look thin, who knows what you have been eating, with all six of you gallivanting around the ruins all day." 

"Rabbit stew, mostly, courtesy of Smaug." Legolas informed him with a grin. 

"Mmm. Smaug, who had the good sense to stay out of Emyn Duir." Thranduil commented mildly. 

Legolas hid a smile. "Smaug does not care for mountain climbing unless there are seagull eggs at the top, or so says Faramir." 

Thranduil snorted, amused and fond, "Radagast meddled enough with those cats, she could tell you herself." 

"I am in her bad graces, having spurned her early attempts to aid us on the trip. I hope to be forgiven, by giving her my share of the honey for porridge." 

Thranduil laughed, "You are lucky I don't give her your share of the maple syrup, you impossible elfling." Walking back over to Legolas, Thranduil embraced him tightly. "I am glad to see you. And I would not have kept you away from Emyn Duir, but all explorations will be done under my supervision, or Captain Tundaer's. Is that understood?"

Legolas tilted his chin in confusion, "Tundaer? Not Lord Hithlamor? He is in command, is he not?" 

"Tundaer." Thranduil repeated firmly. "Or one of the other senior Captains. Hithlamor is too eager and not cautious enough, though he is more than old enough to know better." 

Hithlamor was several centuries Thranduil's senior. "Aye, Ada." Legolas, realizing that he personally had more faith in Tundaer's judgement, or even Renham's, than Hithlamor's. 

"If you are here and I am not, and you judge that Hithlamor is being rash, you may overrule him." Thranduil said after a moment, "Knowing you, and how careful you have been over the centuries about using your authority as my son sparingly, I trust that you will only do so out of a genuine concern for the safety of our elves, and not merely to get your own way." 

"I would never do that!" Legolas countered. 

Thranduil raised a wry eyebrow, "A certain dragon comes to mind...." He drawled. 

"I wasn't just trying to get my own way, then." Legolas argued earnestly, "I thought that we might need to have supplies and elves by Erebor in a hurry, otherwise I would never have rearranged the supply chains and patrol schedules!" 

"Or had other elves do it for you." Thranduil observed levelly, rueful amusement and reluctant admiration both present in his sapphire eyes, "I expected it from Theli and most of your former patrol, and aye, from Sergeant Teliemir and that lot, as they are his friends or Nandorin. I did not expect it from Baeraeriel. Though it did not, after a few decades, make me think worse of her, that she would be prepared to sacrifice her career because she believed in you." Thranduil shook his head, making his gold braids dance as he left those thoughts in the past. "Enough remembrances. You've had your scolding. Let's go have dinner, then, and see if your comrades' cat has been collected." 

Smaug had, and Eowyn's new owl friend had joined them as well. Thranduil and the elf who cared for the expedition's birds were quite taken with the young tawny owl, and spent some time trying to help Eowyn find a name that suited it. Legolas confessed to Faramir and Eowyn that he was bound next for the East Bight. 

"Theli and Baeraeriel can accompany you back to Ithilien." Legolas suggested apologetically. 

"Televegil and I...." Corrected Theli, at the same time that Thranduil ordered that Televegil and several other elven soldiers would escort the humans back to Gondor, while Baeraeriel would join the group bound for the East Bight. Theli dropped his eyes, hiding a grin, while Thranduil gave him a quelling look. Legolas and Faramir, and some of the older elves, exchanged glances of amusement. 

Baeraeriel looked like she'd rather dance with a dragon, but she was not an elf who would ever challenge a royal order. Well, except that one time concerning the actual dragon,and that had been more because Legolas promised not to get Televegil involved if she helped, and a bit as an apology for her not having trusted Theli and Legolas in the past. 

A silent exchange ensued between Faramir and Eowyn, at the end of which the Steward of Gondor said, "There is no need for an escort to return to Gondor. Eowyn and I will accompany you to the East Bight." 

Faramir squeezed his wife's hand, and Eowyn turned to Thranduil with a shy smile, "With your leave, of course, Cousin. Aragorn does not need us to return yet, and my former nurse Edie is journeying with her husband to serve as Gondor's ambassadors to the Woodmen. I would very much like to see her again." 

Thranduil gave all three of Faramir, Eowyn, and Legolas a suspicious look, but he did give his consent. If it was a plot, it was not of Legolas' making, so he did not feel badly about it. He was beginning to suspect that Aragorn might have sent Faramir and Eowyn along with him not just to give them a break from their admittedly exhausting work in Gondor, but also to provide Legolas with supportive companionship. Legolas resented that slightly, but was too grateful to actually complain about it, or even bring it up. 

The evening passed in a merry enough fashion despite Legolas' disappointment over being required to join the trip to the East Bight, at least until he went to pull the Lithidren's metal quill out of his belt pouch to show it to Theli and Brasseniel. It was not there, which put Legolas into almost a panic. 

"I will just go and see if I dropped it along the way." He murmured distractedly, getting to his feet. Faramir, Televegil, and Baeraeriel got up as if to follow him, until Thranduil ordered them all to stay. 

"It will not take long!" Legolas objected. 

"No, Legolas." Thranduil ordered sternly, and then gestured for Legolas to follow him back into his tent when it was clear that his youngest son had no intention of dropping the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: More about Legolas' time as Erynion Lightning-Bow can be found here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/635377
> 
> The story of Thranduil's tour of duty with Sergeant Renham can be found here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/628645/chapters/1136535


	16. Mountains of Mourning, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Set in the summer of T.A. 3021. The demon ghosts who finally appear in this part of the story are barrow-wights, or something similar.
> 
> "Cold be hand and heart and bone  
> and cold be sleep under stone  
> never more to wake on stony bed  
> never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead  
> In the black wind the stars shall die  
> and still be gold here let them lie  
> till the Dark Lord lifts his hand  
> over dead sea and withered land." - Chant of a Barrow-wight, by J. R. R. Tolkien 
> 
> Excerpt from Previous Chapter:
> 
> The evening passed in a merry enough fashion despite Legolas' disappointment over being required to join the trip to the East Bight, at least until he went to pull the Lithidren's metal quill out of his belt pouch to show it to Theli and Brasseniel. It was not there, which put Legolas into almost a panic. 
> 
> "I will just go and see if I dropped it along the way." He murmured distractedly, getting to his feet. Faramir, Televegil, and Baeraeriel got up as if to follow him, until Thranduil ordered them all to stay. 
> 
> "It will not take long!" Legolas objected. 
> 
> "No, Legolas." Thranduil ordered sternly, and then gestured for Legolas to follow him back into his tent when it was clear that his youngest son had no intention of dropping the issue.

"I will not risk your life over a trinket, Legolas. Never would I do so, and especially not here." Thranduil ordered, clearly near the end of his patience. 

Legolas thought that was rather rich, since he had heard his father derogatively refer to the One Ring itself as a tawdry tinker's trinket. But he understood his father's point. A thing was never worth a life, with perhaps that one exception. Still....

"Lithidhren's pen is NOT a trinket!" He argued. 

"What is this really about, Legolas?" Thranduil asked, concern now warring with his frustration. 

"We have not actually seen anything dangerous at the ruins!" Legolas argued fiercely, surprised himself by how upset he was, "And it would not take long to retrace our steps, at least to the gates!" 

"You are worse than Lithidhren, about not telling me why you’re upset." Thranduil complained. 

"I wouldn't know!" Legolas retorted, his eyes stinging with tears, "I barely remember Lithidhren!" 

Now eyeing Legolas carefully, Thranduil said softly, "I do love you desperately, ion-nin, but I am not a mind reader. If you need something, you need to tell me, Legolas." 

"You never wanted to hear it!" Legolas objected, all sorts of memories coming to the surface and nearly suffocating him with their force and immediacy. 

"When did I ever turn you away?" Thranduil asked, incredulous and hurt. 

"Never." Legolas snapped back, because that wasn't what had happened. But the weight of the memories and his cutting sense of grief at having found something of his brother's and lost it made him continue, "I respect you and I love you too, Ada. But you didn't have to send me away for me to know that it wasn't acceptable for me to be sad. I was the surviving son. You were mourning; Thalion was mourning; everyone was mourning. If I wasn't happy, then you were even more sad. I wanted you to be happy, so I was happy for you. I never had a chance to tell you how I felt, because I could tell that you could not bear more. Elladan said..." 

"Elladan…" Thranduil hissed, seizing upon a point that infuriated Legolas because it WASN'T THE POINT. 

At the same time, Legolas' cousin Televegil bravely- and foolishly- pushed the cloth door aside and came in. "Ah. Spider thing aside, Elladan’s right about that. No one wanted Legolas unhappy. If he was, you were more likely to..." 

"No one asked you." Said Thranduil bluntly. 

"No, but I came to ask...." 

"Leave us." Thranduil commanded the quailing Televegil. 

"Televegil can stay." Legolas said, eyes and heart burning, "I’m leaving." He pushed past Televegil, not even looking at his father. The rest of the camp seemed to have found other things to do, with the exception of Faramir, who go to his feet to follow Legolas. Behind him, Legolas heard his father's footsteps coming out of the tent, heard him inhale to call Legolas back. Legolas' shoulders tightened, his heart pulsing with anger and pain. He didn’t know if he could keep control of his temper, if Thranduil ordered him to come back.

"Let him go, please, Aran-nin. He needs time, and Faramir will be with him." Theli entreated. 

Thranduil's footfalls paused. Legolas sighed in relief. He increased his pace through the undergrowth towards the curve where the nearby spring widened into a substantial creek. A forest fire had left the sky clearly visible from the few remaining tall trees, and it looked like a good place to go and calm down, close enough to the camp not to invite danger but far enough away not to be tempted to yell at his father again. 

Just barely over the rising night breeze, Legolas could hear his father's conversation with Theli. 

"You heard?" Thranduil asked, his voice tense. 

"Half of the camp heard." One of Thranduil's older guards informed him in a tone of mingled reproach and compassion. "Your voice carries when you’re angry." 

Legolas snorted, because that was certainly true. Then he and Faramir were blessedly out of earshot of the camp and his father. Looking down at the clear creek reflecting the brightly shining stars, Legolas paced back and forth in front of the water. Faramir leaned against a tree, and said nothing, which Legolas appreciated. 

"It is dark tonight, but for the stars." Legolas murmured. 

"New moon." Faramir agreed. "If I was a ghost, this is the night I'd be out." 

"Faramir...." 

Faramir sighed. "I will go with you, if you wish." 

Legolas struggled to decide. He desperately wanted to go searching for Lithidhren's metal quill. His father had not, technically, disagreed that it should be safe to do so, up to the gates. And Legolas had not, technically, agreed not to go. However, Legolas had spent centuries cultivating a reputation for working within the rules. It was what had made it possible for his relatively few lapses to be excused. And when he had acted precipitously, it had usually been to prevent imminent harm to someone incapable of protecting themselves. Not to reacquire a belonging of his brother's, no matter how treasured the pen had been, or how much he missed that brother. 

At the same time, Legoals was upset with his father, more so than he realized he had reason to be. Thranduil hadn't been listening, and being here reminded Legolas of trying to be good and quiet and smiling so that his father, in Thranduil's very rare free time, would not worry about him. The fact that they would be leaving so soon for the East Bight coupled with the anguish that the special quill had stayed where Lithidhren had left it, in the archives, for hundreds of years, only to be lost by Lithidhren's careless baby brother in an afternoon, was near overwhelming. Legolas remembered, faintly, that Lithidhren had not let him play with the pen except for directly under his supervision, because he had been afraid that Legolas would lose it. 

 

In the end, Legolas decided to chance it. "Just to the spring closest to the gates. No further; I am not that much a fool." 

"Hmm." Commented Faramir neutrally, but the look in his gray eyes was warm and fond, and Legolas knew that his friend was remembering the time that Faramir had invited Legolas to bear him company while Faramir went off to do a very stupid thing. Getting into a duel with a mind-sick soldier had been, in Legolas' opinion, much more stupid than this, but he was both older and more heart-whole than Faramir. 

"If we get almost killed by ghosts, I will let you slap me." Legolas offered fairly. 

Faramir shook his head, a small smile flickering over his features for just a moment. "Thank you, no." He murmured, "If your father doesn't kill me for going with you instead of, I don't know, sounding the alarm and trying to tackle you to the ground, then he would most certainly kill me for slapping you." 

"Aragorn did not kill me for hitting you." 

"He was too busy projecting confidence in my ability to win the duel, which did actually help." 

"Well, you didn't seem to care whether you lived or died." 

"I cared. I just felt that it was the hands of the Valar, and didn't worry about it." 

Legolas smirked. "Until it was all over, the other fellow just barely injured enough not to continue, and Aragorn trying hard not to kill you himself for scaring him to death." 

Faramir made some sort of bantering reply which Legolas didn't pay too much attention to. His eyes were on Faramir's hands. Using a modified and expanded version of the sign language developed by the rangers, Faramir asked how Legolas planned to get past the cordon of Thranduil's guards now surrounding them. 

Legolas was rather proud that Faramir had noticed the guards. He gave Faramir an approving nod, then laid a gentle hand on top of a twisted old oak. The tree remembered Legolas, and Thranduil, and was happy to keep quiet about where the Prince was going unless the King himself should ask. The oak also helpfully informed Legolas as to the location of a nearby sett of badgers. 

"Let's go swimming." Legolas proposed loudly. 

Faramir winced, and signed that Legolas should not try to mislead anyone because he wasn't any good at it. 

Legolas was good at getting the cooperation of the badgers, however. The creatures were often nocturnal and liked to swim anyway, so they were quite willing to make splashing sounds in exchange for some novel (to a badger) items from Legolas' and Faramir's belt pouches. 

Legolas and Faramir took off over the trees, Legolas having talked Eowyn's owl and some of its fellows into flying about, and the trees into picking up the breeze a bit. 

"I had never thought to be bribing badgers and owls." Faramir commented rather bemusedly. 

"You recruited them, in Ithilien. During the War." 

"Not badgers. I wish I'd had you then; they wanted nothing to do with us, and were generally ill-tempered besides." 

As they climbed and jumped from branch to branch, Faramir and Legolas kept a good look out for Lithdhren's shining pen. Once they were far enough away from the camp and the guards, they descended from the trees to the rubble-strewn path. Walking slowly along, they found arrowheads and coins aplenty and several knives and hair-pins, but not Lithidhren's quill. 

They had not quite made it to the spring outside what had once been the outer walls when Legolas stiffened. The air had grown suddenly chill, and the wind had picked up. A cold wind coming from inside the mountain. At first Legolas hoped that he was seeing things, then Faramir's indrawn breath beside him made him realize that was not the case. 

"Call the warning." Legolas said, pulling his bow and nocking an arrow. 

Faramir's horn was already half to his lips. The Steward remembered the Greenwood's signals, different though they were from Gondor's. Faramir was good, about things like that. The smoke-like substance rising from the ruins stopped, for a moment, as the bright notes of the horn faded into the moonless night. Then it began again. 

"We should fall back, to the cordon, if we can." Legolas whispered, keeping his eyes on the ruins of his elflinghood home as they began their retreat. 

Faramir nodded. They were perhaps halfway back to the sentry line, with aid already on its way, when they heard a scream from the direction of the ruins. 

Legolas paused, his soldier's training warring with his inner knight errant. 

"It's a trap." Faramir pointed out helpfully. 

"Of course it's a trap; that doesn't mean that there isn't someone there who desperately needs our aid." Legolas replied levelly, aware that the terrible scream might just as likely be that of a rabbit or a deer as a woman or elleth. 

"Or a fox." Faramir pointed out, hearing the unspoken thought. 

Another scream echoed off of the tumbled stones of the castle, and then a third and fourth. Legolas had been there, waiting in one of the higher battlements to welcome his mother home, when he'd lost four of the six elves most dear to him in all the world. 

"Even a rabbit deserves better!" Legolas snarled as he turned to race back in the direction of the castle at the top of Emyn Duir. 

One of the many things that Legolas liked about Faramir, was that the former ranger didn't waste time doing things like cursing the impulsiveness of his companions, or bemoaning his fate. He just signaled that they were going forth, and then followed after Legolas as swiftly as he could. Which was quite quickly, for a human. 

But Legolas still arrived at the ruins first, vaulting over what had once been statues welcoming travelers to the elven King's fortress in the middle of the Wood. The cold was all around him now, freezing the blood in his veins and turning his breath white. A light shone at the base of the King's castle, and more screams echoed through the night. Now Legolas was almost positive that he was hearing the death cries of innocent forest creatures, but...nothing good could come of this. It had to be stopped. 

One of the wisps of smoke appeared in front of Legolas, twisting and then howling at him. No longer smoke but now a skeletal figure clad in rags and rattling with bracelets and rings of silver and gold. Its empty eye sockets glowed with a pale, unearthly light. 

Legolas didn't know what it was, but he didn't hesitate to put an arrow through each orb. 

"Come..." The creature howled in a deep, disturbing voice, the arrows not seeming to bother it at all, “Come….”

“Barrow-wights!” Exclaimed Faramir’s fascinated voice from just behind Legolas.

“Not now, Fara!” Legolas scolded him, grabbing his sworn-brother’s shoulder to pull him back, “First, kill…er, destroy them! Then study them!”

“We have to open their barrows to the sun!” Faramir explained, between ineffective blows with his sword to the torsos and skeletal arms of the now swarming wights.

“It’s midnight!” Legolas objected.

“A problem, yes.” Faramir agreed, managing to do a far better job of fighting here in this forsaken place than he ever did in practice. A tendency of Faramir’s that drove Aragorn, Glorfindel, Legolas and everyone else who had taken upon the task of further training Boromir’s younger brother absolutely mad.

“Legolas.” Shouted Faramir, nodding towards a precariously balanced wall, and a cloud of barrow-wights coalescing just beneath it.

Legolas nodded, kicked his current wight-opponent off of the mountain. He joined Faramir at the wall. As one, they rammed into the weakened structure. Crumbling mortar dusted their hair and shoulders with a fine layer of white particles, causing Faramir to sneeze as the wall collapsed on top of the wights.

“Well, that at least seemed to stop them.” Faramir noted, peering with interest at the writhing skeletons beneath the fallen masonry.

“A dozen down, several hundred left to go. Move, Faramir!” Legolas complained, pulling his scholarly friend along behind him.

Throwing the wights off of the mountain didn’t seem to stop them for long. Legolas’ arrows were good for severing withered ropes and clinging vines to cause more heavy objects to land on the wights, temporarily holding them, but not for much else. Faramir’s sword was no better than a club. They were vastly outnumbered, and being herded towards the central court yard of the castle.

“This is going to be a very stupid way to die.” Faramir pointed out, in the same tone of voice he used to inform Aragorn that the King oughtn’t word a specific petition a certain way.

Legolas didn’t deign to reply. Faramir would be right, save that the elven Prince was determined that they would not die, not this night. His father would never forgive him if that were to happen. Not anywhere, and perhaps most especially not here.

Realizing that he was out of arrows did nothing to dim that resolution. Legolas pulled his knives, stabbing one of the wights between the joints of the rusty armor it wore. He hadn’t expected much- the demon ghosts did not seem to particularly mind being stabbed- but to his surprise the wight howled in pain, clutching at its side and retreating, thus blocking the onslaught of several of its fellows.

Faramir exclaimed in interest, and then pulled a dagger of his own. Tossing it unerringly through the eye of a barrow-wight, the human prince grinned in triumph as the creature wheeled aside, drawing its tattered, befouled cloak over the wounded eye.

“Blessed weapons can harm them!” Faramir explained, as calm as if he’d just discovered an interesting fact in the library.

“Then why doesn’t your sword?” Legolas demanded, dodging around another wight and wishing that Faramir had not thrown away a useful weapon just to test a theory. His newest human brother was normally tediously insistent upon weapons being blessed; that this one apparently hadn’t been when it finally mattered again was something Legolas would never fail to bring up in the future, should they live to see the morning.

“Glorfindel knocked the cross-piece on my sword a-kilter, ‘ere we left Minas Tirith.” Faramir gasped, “This was one of Boromir’s. A gift from our fath…” Faramir broke off as they were hard-pressed again.

Legolas launched himself at the nearest wights, trying to inflict as much pain as possible without being grabbed and held. Their bony fingers cut like wires made out of the coldest of ice, and Legolas didn’t like the drugged lassitude which came over him when they seized him and looked into his eyes.

Another piteous, terrified scream rang out from the central courtyard. The wights lost interest in the two princes for a moment, either having realized that Legolas, at least, could cause them real pain, or intrigued by the sound.

“I don’t want to know what their idea of a good time is.” Legolas murmured, torn between horror and gratitude as he used the respite to pull them both into a half-blocked corridor leading out to the other side of the mountain.

“Neither do I.” Faramir whispered in fervent agreement. Then he stifled a laugh.

“What?”

“It will be ironic if, after all that has happened, it will be my Lord…Lord Denethor’s insistence that magic and the Valar cannot protect us from danger, leading to his stubborn refusal to bless any weapon he gave as a gift, which will end up getting me killed.”

“Have a little faith.” Legolas lectured, not sure whether to appreciate that Faramir could see some humor in this, however dark, or discourage it. “I am good at finding danger, yes, but I am good at getting us out of it, too. Did not my plan save us in Mordor during our scenic tour there last winter?” He jested, pulling Faramir down to rest on a stone bench beside him. 

“That was my plan.” Faramir replied, hiding a smile.

“Ah, yes, but it was I who killed the orcs.”

“That was Grace.”

“So it was.” Legolas agreed, squeezing his sworn-brother’s wrist reassuringly. “But it is me who has spent centuries in this wood, and decades in this castle. I have fought the dead before, with Aragorn and Gimli during the war. I have more experience, Faramir, and I have faith. Do you not give up, either.”

Faramir nodded to him, quietly determined. Legolas nodded back.

Getting to his feet, Legolas eyed the bench they had been sitting on. It was smallish, as a bench in the castle went. Legolas knew this corridor well. Lithidhren and Thandrin had used it, to sneak food from the kitchen at odd hours. He did not recognize this bench, which looked almost more like a flat-topped chest. The sides were engraved with symbols. The first, a shield with an evergreen upon it, surmounted by a circlet, had been his older brother Thandrin’s coat of arms. The twins, Lithidhren and Eryntheliel, had not yet chosen an official symbol. But a wood-hawk flew up beside the shield, and a lamp, the symbol of Greenwood’s archivist, lit its way.

“Faramir, help me open this.”

Confused but willing, Faramir bent to lift up one end of the top of the bench, while Legolas grabbed the other. His hands tingled, but warmly. Nothing at all like the feeling the barrow-wights gave him. On three, he and Faramir lifted the heavy stone lid, which was not quite as weighty as it should have been. 

Inside the bench – which was, in fact, a chest – lay two swords, a bow, and a quiver of arrows. The heavier sword had been Thandrin’s. Legolas picked it up, handing the slender, longer blade which had once been Lithidhren’s to Faramir.

Legolas took the arrows, and Faramir the bow. They had been Eryntheliel’s, and she had not liked to use them for aught but target practice. The arrows were too short for Legolas’ bow, but they were blessed, and practically shone with it. His sister’s bow was too small for Faramir, but without speaking, neither prince was willing to leave anything of Legolas’ siblings here in this place.

“I will never leave a camp without my bow again.” Faramir vowed. 

“Best not.” Legolas agreed, glad that they’d both had a chance to catch their breath as another gust of bitterly cold air blasted by them, followed by the moaning, hypnotic howl of a wight.

The two princes resumed their running battle, this time better armed. They still ended up in the courtyard, which ran with the blood of a dozen deer and twice as many smaller creatures, rabbits and foxes amongst them.

Blood ringed the mouths and stained the skeletal teeth of the barrow-wights surrounding the slaughter. They were stronger, and faster, than the other wights. Legolas would have been afraid, had he the time to think of such an abstract concept as fear. 

A horn called out, the notes deep and fierce. The barrow-wights didn’t pause, but Legolas applied himself to the battle with renewed fervor, as did Faramir beside him. Help was on the way; and although Legolas almost wished that they’d been left to their fate rather than endanger their fellows, he was deeply grateful for the impending aid.

He saw Thranduil first, fierce and savage, a whirlwind of death with his long blade. Behind him followed the King’s Guards, too accustomed to their royal charge leading from the front to even appear exasperated, at least in the midst of battle. Legolas spotted Baeraeriel leaping from Theli’s shoulders with both her blades drawn, and Sergeant Renham wielding a stone statute of a lion like a giant club with Eowyn in his wake.

*Blessed weapons hurt them.* Legolas thought to his father, as strongly as he could. He did not have the age, experience or natural skill for speaking clearly mind to mind, but his bond with his father was such that he didn’t really need it. Across the courtyard, hundreds of angry demon ghosts between them, he felt more than saw his father nod. Thranduil called orders, and the elven warriors reorganized themselves accordingly. Eowyn fell into their formation smoothly, and Legolas marveled again at what a natural warrior the human woman was, for all her relative dearth of experience.

For awhile, they made progress. Then more barrow-wights rose like smoke through the fountains of the courtyard and the corridors leading down to the lower levels. Legolas’ muscles were tired, and Faramir’s must be even more so. If they could not reach his father and the other warriors soon, Legolas would not be sanguine about their chances.

Thranduil must have come to the same conclusion. He shouted an order, and his guards formed up around him, making a circle to protect the King. Thranduil knelt down, laid his hand on the keystone of the courtyard, and spoke.

Legolas felt the words vibrate through the air. This castle was haunted, yes, but Thranduil had helped to build it with his own hands. Twice. He had ruled this land and fought to save it for over fourth thousand years.

The barrow-wights shrieked, and for a moment Legolas thought that all would be well. Then the very stones of the courtyard cracked, right down the middle. A crevice suddenly gaped into existence beneath their feet, like the maw of a gigantic stone monster. One with penetrating, icy breath. Barrow wights swarmed out of the depths, their pale, glowing eyes fixed upon the living.

Legolas and Faramir ended up on one side of the gaping chasm. Thranduil and his warriors – and Eowyn- were on the other.

“Call to father to sound the retreat!” Legolas ordered Faramir above the ghastly noise. There were too many of the enemy, and they were too strong. Already Captain Tundaer was carrying Lieutenant Orthadvren, who must have gotten too close to one of the wights. Legolas and Faramir had a chance to get away over the other side of the castle. Not a good one, but Legolas and Faramir were both hero enough, and prince enough, that they would not risk the lives of others, not when there was such slim hope of rescue succeeding.

Faramir had lost the horn, but Legolas’ father wasn’t a fool, either. When the two princes managed to get to higher ground, they could clearly see the other elves formed up and retreating in the direction of the exit nearest their campsite, Eowyn in their midst beside the shorter figure of Baeraeriel.

Legolas counted them, and was greatly relieved to see that none had been lost, at the same time he couldn’t help feeling a little abandoned.

“Grace and I did the heavy lifting in Mordor, eh?” Faramir wheezed from beside him, with a wry, reckless grin, “Think that you can manage your turn here, my pointy-eared friend?”

Despite their dire straits, Legolas couldn’t help but laugh. If one was going to have to fight an army of demon-ghosts in the ruins of one’s childhood home which the foul creatures had corrupted and made their own, then one couldn’t have a better friend by one’s side to do it with than Faramir. Unless, of course, it was a dozen such friends, but that would be greedy, Legolas supposed.

He turned one more time to make sure that his father’s elves made it out of the outer courtyard safely, but even as he did so he was already urging Faramir up the stairs. The sight of Captain Tundaer taking over point for the retreat stopped Legolas in his tracks, and then his heart froze as he watched his father break free from his body guards and leap the chasm at its narrowest point.

“Oh, orc spit!” Legolas cursed, jumping back down into the courtyard to go to his father’s aid. Faramir followed him without Legolas’ even having to ask.

Baeraeriel had followed Thranduil, throwing herself over the crevice with a boost from Theli, and strategically crashing into three wights. Theli leapt, too, but needed a catch from Faramir to keep from falling into the pit of wights. Then Eowyn followed, and Thranduil, given some breathing room by Legolas, nearly fell back into the hole himself aiding Eowyn. 

The six of them battled their way to the entrance of a hallway which had windows open to the sunlight during the day, Legolas thrilling despite the circumstances to be fighting beside his father. He and Thranduil had often sparred together, but it was rare that the King and the King’s sole surviving blood heir had been part of the same patrol. They’d fought side-by-side only perhaps a dozen times since Legolas first joined the army, the most recent having been at the Battle of the Five Armies. It was invigorating to do so again.

That hallway was relatively free of wights, but the next was not.

“This way!” Theli called, gesturing them towards a stairway which led down to the cellars.

“Are you insane?” Thranduil demanded.

“Trust me!”

Thranduil made a noise closer to a growl than an acquiescence, but he gestured to Legolas, Faramir, and Eowyn to follow, nonetheless. A brief argument ensued, which Baeraeriel evidently lost, for it was Thranduil who brought up the rear. As they went further into the damp, chillingly cold cellars, Legolas devoutly hoped that Theli did, in fact, know what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you if you enjoyed this latest chapter! Thanks for reading!


	17. Mountains of Mourning, Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance that is in this Earth."  
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

The air grew coldly sinister and chillingly damp as they fought their way deeper into the subterranean levels of the castle at Emyn Duir. Legolas was soon too focused on the enemies they faced to worry about where Theli was leading them. The elven prince swung and stabbed at the screaming wights with his older brother Thandrin’s blessed sword, Eowyn before him and Baeraeriel behind him doing the same. Theli had point, with Faramir cleaning up the wights who were stirred up in the wake of the healer elf. Thranduil defended them from the back, with occasional assistance from Baeraeriel and Legolas. 

The howling moans of the wights echoed off of the increasingly close set walls. Sickly shimmering, the wights seemed to emerge from every shadow. With the blessed weapons, Legolas and his company held their own. 

Then the number of wights between them and wherever Theli was leading them thickened, and Legolas moved forward to help clear the path. He fought just to Faramir’s right, surprised again and grateful for his human friend’s endurance. Faramir was not the great swordsman that Boromir had been, nor was he Aragorn’s equal with a blade. But being exhausted did not take a great toll on Faramir’s skill. As the scholarly warrior grew more tired, he also became more focused. It was almost like fighting beside Aragorn again, at times.

Aragorn and Faramir were both human, but if they really wanted to, they could communicate a thought or concept to Legolas during a fight merely by making eye contact. Faramir was even able to do so without meeting Legolas’ eyes, which had taken even Lord Elrond quite by surprise the first time it happened.

Their path forward cleared. Legolas turned back, and joined his father and Baeraeriel in discouraging the wights who followed at their heels, shrieking and grasping with their skeletal hands and beckoning with their glowing eyes. Thranduil moved aside to make room for Legolas, sending a high-spirited but silent message of welcome and pride through the link that he and Legolas shared as father-and-son. Through that bond, Legolas was able to know how his father was going to move even as Thranduil made the decision.

That was particularly helpful, as Legolas was not accustomed to fighting with a long blade such as Thandrin’s. He normally preferred the two slender, deadly long knives favored by Baeraeriel. It was an aggressive fighting style which could be deadly in the hands of fast, flexible, and well-trained warriors such as Legolas and Baeraeriel. It did, however, have a very real flaw which Thranduil had often complained about. Should an elf fighting with two short blades mist-time a strike, he had no easy way to defend himself long enough to retreat. An elf fighting with a long sword like Thranduil’s could swing the blade in an arc to protect himself, both to get an opponent to step back and to defend himself from an incoming blow. A warrior who only had long knives had better be able to get out of the way without any such assistance, or not miss in the first place.

Thranduil had never liked that Legolas had taken up the knives, but he had seen to it that his son had the best teachers, one of whom had been Baeraeriel. And the lighter knives allowed Legolas to match larger, more heavily-built elves and men toe-to-toe throughout even a long engagement, which would have been more difficult, with a heavier blade. Even now, Legolas’ arms and shoulders were aching from his older brother’s heavy, unfamiliar sword. The elven prince could now understand why Faramir had taken to running several miles a day in plate armor as a teenager, in order to try to equal the stamina and strength of his larger, bulkier comrades in arms such as his brother Boromir.

Yet Faramir and even Legolas were tall and muscular compared to Eowyn’s slender femininity. Baeraeriel was only two thirds Eowyn's height, and dainty. Legolas felt his father’s shared wonder at the whirlwind of deadly force that was their short female cousin, as she stabbed and tripped barrow-wights under Thranduil’s longer sword to the King's left while Legolas did the same to the right. Thranduil’s mind must have turned from battle to memory, as Legolas saw for a moment a younger Baeraeriel with fewer beads in her warrior braids fewer orc tooth beads on her necklace, clearing opponents low and to the left for Thandrin instead of Thranduil.

That moment quickly passed. Ahead of them, Theli, Faramir and Eowyn stopped moving, and formed a semi circle around what looked like a round stone door in the floor. 

"Key?" Shouted Theli, over the sound of the barrow-wights' shrieking. 

Thranduil swore virulently, but to Legolas' relief, he did pull a shining, intricate key from around his neck. Legolas and Baeraeriel joined the circle of protection around the door, and Thranduil opened it. 

"They do go through walls, you know!" Thranduil said scathingly. 

"I noticed." Theli replied breathlessly, "But it takes time. And I don't think they like running water. They weren't crossing the streams." 

"Many of the Enemy's creations are frightened and weak when it comes to flowing water." Faramir noted, grey eyes lighting up with interest even as he stabbed Lithidhren's sword through a wight's rib cage and twisted up, making the wight scream. 

"The main cisterns were the other way." Thranduil pointed out urgently, waving Theli and then Eowyn down before him into the tunnel. 

"The cisterns may have broken when the spring beneath the great hall did. The spring in the west courtyard is dried up, and the small cisterns in the other direction were empty, when we were there yesterday." Theli explained. 

Legolas went after Eowyn, because Thranduil told him to, and it didn't seem like a good time to argue (for a number of reasons). 

The walls didn't slow the barrow-wights down for very long, and they had apparently settled into the tunnels, infecting them and befouling them like fungi and mold had so many of the trees. Between the wights following them from above, and the apparently weaker ones they disturbed in their flight through the subterranean tunnels, their group was hard pressed. On all sides, they were surrounded by gaping, skeletal maws and screaming, glowing eyes. Legolas lost count of the number of times he had to tear a vise-like bony grip off of his limbs. At one point, Baeraeriel was nearly dragged bodily away. 

"I will take your teeth for my necklace, you misbegotten bag of bones!" She yelled, jumping on top of the wight's shoulders. She pulled her knives back and then jammed them down between the top of the wight's ribs and the vertebrae at the base of its neck. The creature's head flew off, which at the least seemed to confuse its body. Its head tried to bite Eowyn, who took the situation with remarkable aplomb. The Rohirric shield-maiden lifted the head by its straggling hair, and threw it over her head at another wight which was menacing Thranduil and Faramir. It knocked the creature back enough that Faramir could tip it over while Thranduil turned his attention to another. 

They soon reached a very small tunnel, one which only Baeraeriel could stand easily pass through without stooping. The roar of water greeted them, and only a few wights followed. Water flowed over their boots and dripped down from the ceiling. The air smelled slightly dank, but more of a healthy earthy smell, like a wet forest cave. Dark green moss grew over the stones, not poisonous, just...slippery. It was not a site where Legolas would choose to spend time, but it was not befouled, either. 

"What is this place?" Legolas wondered aloud? 

"The drainage channel for the spring from the large bathing pools." Thranduil was almost laughing, "And from the...uh...." He trailed off with an uncertain look at Baeraeriel and Eowyn. 

"The sewers." Theli supplied with a devilish grin. "I had to scrub this place with a toothbrush once or twice, so I remember it fairly well." 

Thranduil clapped the healer on the shoulder. "Well-done. I know the way from here." 

Legolas' father took the lead, and Theli dropped back to bring up the rear. Thranduil led them unerringly through a series of smaller and then larger tunnels, the rushing sound of water growing louder all the while. The barrow-wights did not seem to like the sound. They hadn't entirely given up the chase - Legolas rather got the feeling that getting to attack the elves and humans was the most excitement the barrow-wights had had in a long time. 

At the last, they reached a circular chamber. The water flowed into the top and then out a hole at the bottom, cascading hundreds of yards down the mountain to crash into what looked like a small maze made out of rocks, which it seemed might have once been a mechanism designed to redirect the flow of the stream into one of a number of different directions. 

A small, slippery stone ladder led down into the circular chamber from the tunnel above. All around the edge of the chamber, just far enough down that a tall elf could stand, ran a narrow ledge, slightly wider at three different points. 

The howling of the barrow-wights above them grew louder. Their ghostly enemies seemed quite put-out. That anger gave the the wights the strength to make darting strikes toward the fleeing elves and men, even though the sound and feel of the water seemed to cause them physical pain. 

Theli came to fore again, and went first down the treacherous ladder. At one point, he slipped and almost fell into the streaming water. 

"Clumsy elfling!" Thranduil scolded. 

Theli called back a cheerful reply as he made it safely to the ledge. He proceeded to edge around the ledge, hands careful on the slick walls, around to a ladder on the far side, next to the wider platform directly opposite the entrance. Then he dropped down, reaching for the rungs of another ladder, this one seemingly made of metal. Legolas could vaguely remember the ladder. It had led precariously down from the least scenic view of the castle towards the mountain path meeting the river Calenduin. 

Theli cursed quietly. To Legolas, it sounded like he'd said, "oh, orcs fornicating with their progenitors," which was an interesting combination of filthy ideas which Legolas hadn't heard put quite that way before. 

"Aran-nin!" Theli called, more formal than he often was with Thranduil when there wasn't an audience to be proper for, "The cursed ladder is gone!" 

Thranduil swore to, another curse that Legolas had never heard before. He made a mental note to share it with Aragorn, Elrohir, and Gimli, if they all survived the night. 

"Should never have let the metal workers' guild convince me not to insist on stone for the substructure maintenance access." Thranduil muttered darkly, before motioning for the four younger elves and men to precede him down into the chamber. 

"Stone might have crumbled too. It's been centuries, after all." Theli remarked, extending a hand to Baeraeriel, who nimbly switched places with him on the far end of the opposite platform, so that Theli could offer a hand to Faramir. 

Thranduil scoffed, but didn't offer further commentary. 

Eowyn leaped gracefully down to stand by Faramir. Exhaustion must have taken a toll on her, either that or the moisture on the ladder made her slip a bit taking off. Faramir had to catch her. Which he managed handily, pulling her up against himself with a fierce embrace and a soft murmur which made Eowyn smile. 

Because he was watching his father's face, Legolas saw the flash of fear and the almost inaudible gasp when it looked as if Eowyn might fall into the rushing water and the emptiness below. He saw, too, that his father was preparing to let go, to fall with her, or catch her and cushion her fall. In a moment, the fear and the resolve were gone, and the King of the Greenwood was stoic again. A few moments later Legolas found himself standing on the platform right beside the falling water, clasped against his father's chest by Thranduil's strong arm. 

"The ladder is impassable." Said Baeraeriel, holding on to Theli's legs and peering below into the night.

The King sighed. "We'll wait the night out here, then." 

Thranduil did not sound enthused about that, and Legolas wasn't either. Neither were the barrow wights, who could not seem to get around the flowing water which took up almost the entire entrance above them. The wights shrieked and howled above, but did not come closer. 

"Next time," Thranduil ordered Legolas and Faramir, "Do try to find homicidal demon ghosts which can be killed, won't you?" 

"Maybe they can be killed, if they are drowned?" Faramir said, suddenly intrigued. "Perhaps we could try that?" He moved slightly aside so that the greater part of the narrow platform was Eowyn's, and then extended a hand toward the ladder as if he might try to climb back up. 

Legolas reached out to grab him. Faramir, once he'd had an idea, always bore watching. He usually studied the matter first, but if immediate action was called for, and he thought something could work, then the Steward of Gondor could behave quite precipitously. Legolas couldn't even entirely abhor that trait in Faramir - it had saved his own life, a time or three. 

"Cousin, get back." Theli ordered, motioning towards Legolas to yes, grab Faramir, if the human Prince got closer to the ladder. 

"I'm just going to take a closer look at the wights." Faramir objected, giving Legolas a hurt look as the elven Prince grabbed his belt. 

"You've seen enough of them already tonight. Get back on your ledge, Denethorchil..." Thranduil broke off, likely remembering that Faramir's father was a sensitive topic, Denethor having never respected his second son and later having tried to kill him, "Faramir." Thranduil ended, apparently deciding that calling Faramir by his patronymic, Thranduil's usual method of emphasizing that he thought someone was behaving like an idiot and ought to pay attention, might not be effective in this instance. 

Faramir, who did a pretty good job of pretending to be a heart-whole person who wasn't bothered by having had a father who'd been a few wagonloads short of sane, protested again, "It might even be that if we just firmly do not believe that they can hurt us, that they will not be able to." 

Legolas burst out laughing, but he didn't loosen his hold on his friend. "We can wake one up tomorrow night, Fara-nin, and you can test that theory. But for now, do as Adar says." 

"They weren't crossing the stream outside the main gate." Theli commented thoughtfully as Faramir reluctantly conceded, returning to Eowyn and wrapping his arms back around her. 

"We could send you and a few others just over tomorrow night the stream tomorrow night, and see what happens." Theli continued. 

"We'll see." Said Thranduil, his eyes glinting with interest even as his body language conveyed doubt. Legolas relaxed against his father, letting out a sigh as he finally allowed himself to feel how tired his muscles were. For a time, all was quiet. The sound of the water rushing past them was loud enough to drown out the quiet conversations between Theli and Baeraeriel, and Faramir and Eowyn. Faramir and Eowyn were smiling and almost laughing at times. The two of them had a very odd idea of what constituted a fun outing, but as traveling companions went, they were some of his favorites. Even on nights like tonight. 

"Why are there barrow-wights here?" Eowyn asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the water. "And why did they almost leave when Thranduil banished them, and then swarm back up?" 

Legolas could feel his father's growl vibrating against his back. 

"There were too many of them, I think." Faramir offered. 

"And also some structural damage to the lower levels." Theli added, "Including to some of the blessed springs." 

"There were very few human graves here." Baeraeriel's musical soprano rung out, "Did they IMPORT hundreds of dead human bodies and then corrupt them?" 

"Someone went to a great deal of trouble...." Faramir said. "I'm sorry." 

"Why, though?" Eowyn said, her pale cheeks flushed with anger on her elven cousins' behalf. 

"I've a theory." Theli put in, doing a bad job of suppressing a mischievous little smile. 

"Oh, by all means, Ecthelion." Thranduil said with tired patience, "We don't have anything else to do for the next few hours, so pray do entertain us." 

Theli grinned. "I think that Saruman convinced his dark master to corrupt and poison our home just to piss you off, Aran-nin." 

There was a moment of silence. 

"Ridiculous." Scoffed Thranduil. 

"No, really." 

"Ecthelion, do you have any idea how much time and effort that would have taken?" Thranduil pointed out derisively, "Digging up graves and transporting dead, cursing them, breaking the foundation of the mountain...." 

"I don't think you fully appreciate how annoying you can be." Theli responded in a serious, reasonable voice. 

Baeraeriel gasped at the irreverence and lese majeste of that rejoinder, but Legolas could tell that Thranduil was hiding a smile. 

"Well, why ever they did it, it must have taken up a fair number of resources that they could have been using for worse attacks." Said Faramir levelly, ever the diplomat. 

The last few hours of the night passed quickly. Which was odd, because the time should have felt interminable. There were few good things about perching on a narrow ledge, cold and wet and exhausted, with barrow-wights shrieking and howling of death above, and a very long drop onto sharp rocks just below. Yet, next to his father, it didn't seem so bad. They didn't talk very much, but that was fine. Legolas could still feel his father's mind, worried, yes, but most of all loving and proud and even a bit amused by the situation. Thranduil had commented, quietly, that he would be very annoyed later. Legolas didn't doubt that, but he was enjoying the reprieve while it lasted. 

At some point, Theli suggested that they switch around ledge partners. Legolas reproached himself for not having realized that his human friends would be incredibly tired. It was difficult and tense, keeping oneself and one's companion upright on the slippery, slightly down-ward sloping platforms. 

They were going to put Baeraeriel with Eowyn and Faramir with Theli, leaving Legolas with Thranduil, but that Baeraeriel had bruised her ribs during her jump across the chasm to join Faramir and Legolas. So they ended up with Baeraeriel and Legolas together, supporting one another, and Eowyn with Thranduil. 

Baereriel had been one of Legolas' training officers, and she was the older sister of one of his closest elven companions. She had some pithy words to say about how they'd ended up in this situation, but she was wiling to be distracted into reminiscences of times long gone-by. From what Legolas could hear of it, Thranduil and Eowyn were caught up in a very involved conversation about ideas for breeding horses for endurance and swiftness in a forest environment. His father, who seemed to find Faramir rather worrying and annoying for all that he was fond of him, had found his match in Faramir's fair young bride. Watching them meet the previous spring had been like watching an irresistible force meet an immovable object, and Legolas would treasure that memory for the rest of his life. Thranduil had become very fond of Eowyn, and it showed. 

Legolas was standing next to Baeraeriel when the sun finally slipped over the horizon, lighting the mist hanging over the trees. The cries of the wights became softer and then silenced. Legolas and his companions were just gathering up their strength to climb back up through the tunnels, when a voice called out from below. 

It was the Captain of Thranduil's guard, along with Captain Tundaer, and Sergeant Renham. And they had ropes and climbing equipment, so the broken stair didn't matter. It was a much quicker way to get out of the castle. Legolas was grateful. 

The rest of the day was exhausting. Legolas caught a brief nap with Faramir and Eowyn when Theli insisted, but otherwise he spent the time rigging up warnings of the barrow-wights and guard schedules. The elves who were staying would be moving a stream and redirecting a spring to surround the castle with running water from every approachable direction. Before they left, Thranduil wanted to review those plans, and he didn't want Legolas far from his sight. 

So it was not until night had fallen again that Legolas actually had a quiet moment to talk to his father. They were by the camp fire, with Faramir and Eowyn and several others nearby. If Legolas hadn't been so tired, he might have tried to move them to a more private venue. But no one was paying attention to them, and it was nice to see the stars and and hear the crackle of the fire. A very pleasant change from the previous evening. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did to you, yesterday." Legolas started the conversation, figuring he'd begin with that because obviously going after the pen had been a bad idea, but Thranduil might not know that he regretted their argument, as well as what had followed afterwards. 

Thranduil just looked around the fire, not speaking yet. Eowyn was getting up to help Brasseniel and several other ladies with re-stitching borrowed finery for herself, Faramir, and Legolas, for the diplomatic trip to the East Bight. Faramir appeared to be asleep, leaning against Theli's side now that Eowyn was on her feet. Theli was looking up at the stars, apparently lost in thought and clearly not listening. 

The elven King cleared his throat. "I...I let my temper get away with me, too. Legolas, I..." 

"You are a good father." Said Legolas fiercely. He was sure of that, even though nothing he'd said the previous day had been a lie. He couldn't take that back. But, it was also true that, "Given all that you had to deal with, I cannot imagine any other elf doing half as well."

Thranduil still stared at the trees, but his hand reached out to rest on Legolas' back. "Thank you, my heart, but there was truth in what you said yesterday. I made mistakes. And I would never expect…You should never have had to be the adult, Legolas-nin. It should have been me taking care of you." 

"It wasn't…you did! You did in every important way." Legolas assured him. 

Thranduil sighed and turned towards his son, reaching out to gently grasp Legolas' shoulders. "Legolas. Stop. When you were an elfling, we were both doing what we had to, to survive. I was the father, and I failed you. Now, you are old enough to be honest and plain-speaking, with yourself and with me. Don’t lie about the past to protect either of us. Your perception of what happened while you were growing up is just as valid as mine. And any parent who can’t admit to making a mistake, even a grievous one, when confronted with their child’s pain, is a cursed fool." 

There was a quiet stirring from Faramir’s side of the fire. The Prince of Ithilien had apparently not been all the way asleep, and he did not always deal well with reminders of what his own father hadn't been. 

Thranduil winced. "Faramir, curse it, come back here." 

Theli got to his feet with a groan. "I’ve got him." He said, trotting off into the darkness after Faramir, muttering under his breath, "You just try to keep your foot out of your mouth for the next half-hour, Aran-nin." 

Legolas choked at the insolence of that. Theli was often cheeky, but that was rather beyond the pale. 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "I think that I might permit Celeborn to beat him, after all." 

"No, you won’t." Said Legolas with a soft smile. 

A corner of Thranduil's mouth twitched in an answering smile. "No, I wouldn’t. But I will send him back with you, to serve as Elladan’s assistant when he arrives to look after Rian for the birth of my foster-grandchild." 

"Poor Theli." 

"Save your sympathy, ion-nin." Said Thranduil, a complicated mix of ruefulness, affection, and reluctance in his voice, "We have yet to talk about your attempt at death by evil spirit." 

Legolas winced. "Oh yes, that." His father did not like to play the disciplinarian. He'd always had so little time with his son, and was not easily offended to the point where he felt it necessary to levy out physical chastisement. Unless Legolas put himself or another at risk, or acted in a way that was injurious to the Wood itself, he could usually count on a punishment falling short of a spanking. But going after the pen last night had inarguably counted as risking himself, and others, and disobeying his King and father. And when Thranduil did have to be the disciplinarian, he was apt to make the lesson memorable enough that he would not have to give it again anytime soon. 

"Come." Commanded his father, leading the way into his tent. Legolas followed with mixed feelings. Apprehension at the thought of what was come to come, warring with relief at being able to put the guilt of having put his father and his friends and his people at risk. 

Legolas stood loosely at attention as his father considered him. 

Thranduil's expression softened fractionally. "I'm going to spank you, ion-nin, and then have you find me a switch. I will not do all of that here - I know how awful that can be." 

That was something at least, Legolas supposed, grateful that his discipline, however much deserved, was not going to be overheard by all of the camp. A large part of his relief vanished as Thranduil continued, "I do not, however, feel as if it would be appropriate for you to make your next walk in comfort. Bend over the cot, Legolas." 

Legolas wasted no time obeying. Thanduil sighed, then rested a reassuring hand on Legolas' back. Sounding both sympathetic and a bit amused, Thranduil remarked, "Legolas, I am glad that it is has been some time since we last had to do this, you and I..." 

Not long enough, thought Legolas, who vividly remembered the previous winter. True, he'd been over his father's knees rather than a bed then, once for volunteering himself for the Quest, and again later - and longer - for following a retreating horde of orcs southward on his way back to Gondor. The latter had been poor judgement, admittedly. There HAD been an elleth with the orcs, but she had not been their prisoner, and it would have been better to have waited for reinforcements and taken volunteers to follow the horde and rescue their kinswoman. 

"But I would not have thought that you would have forgotten the position," Thranduil said, still irritatingly amused, "Head up, ion-nin. Arch your back, and push your backside up higher." 

Legolas stifled a groan as he obeyed, feeling a fool for having forgotten. He tensed as his father lifted his tunic over his back, and then relaxed a bit as he felt Thranduil's strong hand come to rest on his bottom, still covered by leggings. Even as Legolas braced himself for the first swat, he was relieved not to be getting this part of the spanking on his bare bottom. Over his leggings would be only a small protection from pain, but it was much quieter than a bare bottom smacking. 

Thranduil's first swat stung, and it was quickly followed by a dozen more in rapid succession, rhythmically alternating between Legolas' left and right buttocks. At a dozen Thranduil paused, and Legolas took a moment to appreciate that his father was spanking with a turned out palm, which hit his backside with slight more of a thud, but was again much, much quieter than he flat of the hand. The other members of his father's company might well be able to guess what sort of discussion the Aran was having with his disobedient son, but they would most likely not hear the specifics. 

"Don't you ever do anything like this again, ion-Las-muin nin." Thranduil whispered fiercely, his left hand still resting on Legolas' bottom. 

Legolas nodded, and braced himself. Sure enough, the spanking began again more firmly, although equally quietly. Thranduil continued to swat Legolas' bottom rhythmically, but instead of smacking one bottom cheek and then the other, the King had begun to focus his swats on one buttock for a moment before moving on to another. After perhaps another twenty smacks, Thranduil landed two particularly hard swats to the undercurves of Legolas' buttocks, and then patted Legolas' back to let him know it was over. For now, at least. Thranduil stayed near in case Legolas needed a hand getting to his feet, but he was fine. Sore, and his bottom was stinging quite a bit, but he was fine. 

There was nothing that Legolas wanted to do less than follow his father into the woods to a quieter place, to find a switch and then hold still for it to be applied to his already hot backside. But it wasn't as if Thranduil was taking a vote, and Legolas felt fairly guilty about rushing into a situation which had put not only Faramir but also a third of his father's company into danger. 

Legolas kept that firmly in mind as they passed the edge of the camp. It kept him from resenting the smirks that he suspected would be visible in the eyes, at least, of his father's guards and the other elves whom they passed. There was nothing like walking through a crowd with a spanked bottom, knowing that you had a switching waiting for you on the other side. 

Lieutenant Orthadvren and his cousin Televegil had tried to make Legolas feel better earlier that day, by pointing out that the barrow-wights might have killed someone later, if their presence had not been discovered the previous night. Thranduil had overheard that, and had not disagreed beyond raising a brow, but still. Legolas already knew that he and Faramir would be doing most of the unpleasant chores in the morning, and probably all the way to the East Bight. 

He sighed. Thranduil shook his head, gold hair and braids dancing in the starlight, and put an arm around Legolas' shoulders, shaking him slightly. 

"Come, you've been in worse trouble. And Thalion is not even here to witness it." 

And that was some comfort. Not much, but a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear from you if you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you for reading, either way.


	18. Mountains of Mourning, Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly a discipline scene. If that's not something you like, then you should switch to reading the gen version posted under my main pseudonym, SusanaR. Chapter 5 of the gen version is available here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1936251/chapters/5385710
> 
> Thanks for reading!

This was not how Legolas had hoped to spend his evening. He was very aware of the fabric of his sturdy leggings against his sore buttocks as he walked, and sadly certain that he would remember this mild comfort with nostalgia upon their return trip. At one point, he felt more than saw four members of his father's guard move around and past them in the woods, to take up compass point watches protecting their King and his erring son. Legolas did his best not to drag his feet as they walked towards a clearing by the river, hoping that the rush of the water and the slight distance would drown out the sounds of his switching. He was not sanguine about his prospects of that, particularly not after he realized that he could hear Faramir getting a sound bare-bottomed spanking from a surprisingly far distance away. 

Legolas sighed, but kept moving in the direction of the clearing. It was his father's hand on his shoulder that stopped him. 

"We will wait for them to finish." 

Legolas thought about pointing out that it wouldn't be the first time he'd seen Faramir spanked. He'd even paddled his friend himself, once. But he didn't really want to explain any of that to his father. Thranduil already felt that Faramir could be too reckless, and at times a bad influence on Legolas. That really went both ways, or at least had since Faramir realized that Aragorn truly cared about whether he lived or died. But Legolas didn't really care to explain that, either, so he kept his silence. 

After what seemed like a painfully long amount of time but was really no longer than a few minutes, the sound of hand smacking against bare flesh, accompanied by Faramir's yelps, abruptly ceased. Thranduil was almost tapping his foot in impatience, waiting for Faramir and Theli - Legolas could just hear Theli's voice - to emerge from the clearing. Not wanting his father to grow even more frustrated, Legolas just started walking, leaving his father little choice but to follow him. 

Faramir stood before Theli, the elven healer's hand on his shoulder as Theli spoke softly to him. Faramir's clothing was in place, but his breathing was deep and ragged and his face was bright pink and stained with tears. Theli sent Faramir off to cut a switch with a gentle shove, shaking his head at both princes and beginning a quiet conversation with his King. 

"It's been about almost an age since we were last here, eh?" Theli commented. 

"Would that the problem this time had merely been drizzling honey in someone else's sleeping roll." Thranduil said sardonically. 

"I wouldn't even have gone through with that, were it not for the specter of Lord Celeborn telling me I was unfit guardian." Theli reminisced, "Particularly not as it was Lord Arnuzir's sleeping bag, and he was acting the complete...." Theli used some word that Legolas didn't recognize. He heard his father chuckle in reply, and made a mental note to ask Rumil or maybe even Thalion about Lord Arnuzir's misfortune. 

"Sorry about this." Legolas offered, bumping his shoulder against Faramir's as they carefully cut branches from an overgrown willow.

Faramir's teeth flashed in the darkness, a rueful grin despite his own pained state. Legolas reflected that he was very lucky in this friend of his. 

"I could have tackled you to the ground." Faramir said graciously, "I was not truly opposed to finding out what was going on in the castle, and stopping it." 

"I know." Acknowledged Legolas, with a fond smile of his own. Despite his unhappy anticipation of their coming ordeal, Legolas took a moment to be grateful that his father and Theli both lacked Aragorn's rather questionable sense of humor. The last time Legolas had seen someone get a switching, it had been Faramir and four of his unfortunate friends. Although Legolas had felt rather sorry for the five of them despite the frantic worry he and their other would-be rescuers had endured, he'd been hard-pressed not to laugh when Aragorn jested about the one white moon above, and the five red moons before them. 

"Should we prepare more than one switch apiece?" Asked Faramir uncertainly. 

"Did Theli ask you to?" 

"No." 

"Then there is no need." Legolas told him reassuringly. "I do not think that the point is to switch us thoroughly so much as to make us realize that the potential consequences of our mistakes last night could have been terrible." 

And indeed neither Theli or Thranduil protested being handed only one switch apiece. Thranduil, in fact, accepted the slender branch from Legolas almost as if he were being handed a live snake. Except that the King generally liked snakes and had never minded being offered one. 

"If the prospect is truly too painful to you, we can just not...." Legolas boldly offered. 

Theli laughed. Legolas knew from long experience, both as occasional charge and one-time soldier in service to the healer, that Theli was no more fond of playing the disciplinarian than Thranduil. Unless the offense in question had been horribly egregious, and there had been no time for Thranduil to calm down, the King had always been more apt to approach punishing his sons with an exasperated attitude of, 'why did you do whatever you did to make me feel as if I have to do this to you?' It had occurred to Legolas that both Thranduil and Theli approached the discipline of others with the dislike and empathy of those who had been on the receiving end far too many times. 

"If you could 'just not' go throwing yourself into dangerous situations in the future, Legolas, I would appreciate it." Thranduil retorted. Gesturing to a fallen log over looking the rushing water, Thranduil continued, "It is too late this time, I am afraid." 

In what seemed like no time at all, Legolas found himself bent over, hands braced on the damp wood of the downed tree, and bare backside high in the air. The chill of the evening was particularly cool against his still heated rear, a state which Legolas knew would not endure for long. Faramir beside him tensed at the sound of the two switches moving through the air. A line of pain and then another landed on Legolas' bottom, the force behind each carefully controlled. 

Faramir gasped, his fingers curling more tightly against the log. Legolas was soon exerting a great deal of self control to keep himself still and not try to move his stinging buttocks out of range. He was fairly certain that his father was landing two rapid stripes for each one that Theli applied to Faramir's already rosy hindquarters, but that didn't stop him from feeling very sorry for his friend, as well as no small amount responsible for their current unenviable situation. To offer what comfort he could, Legolas moved his hand on top of Faramir's, and squeezed. Faramir squeezed back. Legolas tried to focus on that, rather than the smarting lines marching from the crown of his backside to the tender crease between his bottom cheeks and upper thighs. 

Legolas was grateful that Thranduil stopped there, before moving back up the curve of his rear end. He'd had commanding officers who'd switched his thighs, and knew that even the lightest flick of switch against the more tender skin was far worse. Theli never had, and Legolas had later returned that favor, when Theli had been under his command prior to the healer's last suspension from Thranduil's army (which had not, to Legolas' knowledge, yet been lifted). 

A few more moments of sharp, stinging pain, and then it was all over. Thranduil's strong hand on his shoulder pulled Legolas into a fierce embrace. 

"I'll...I'll be more careful!" Legolas gasped wetly into his father's shoulder. 

"You'd by-Orome better be." Thranduil ordered, his hand tangled in Legolas braids as he cupped his son's head. Legolas stayed in his father's warm hold, listening to the beat of Thranduil's heart and the sound of the water and the wind. Gradually, the burning sting of the switching on top of his earlier spanking subsided to a more general pained tenderness. Steeling himself, Legolas pulled his leggings back over his striped and sore bottom, fighting the urge to give his father a sulky look as he did so. He knew that he'd left Thranduil no real choice. 

As they walked slowly back towards the camp, Legolas felt as if his backside was swollen, and was very grateful not to be the only one walking oddly. He was not looking forward to passing by the few elves who would still be awake, even though he'd thankfully been excused from any punishment duties for the evening. He'd already apologized to everyone who had been part of the rescue party, but was unhappily contemplating whether a more general apology to the expedition as a whole would be appropriate. 

Thranduil, likely feeling sorry for his son, reached out to rest a hand on Legolas' shoulder. 

"I should not have let you storm off, when you were first upset over losing Lithidhren's quill." 

"It was not your fault, Ada." Legolas assured him. 

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "Well, you did make your own choices, however...." Thranduil let go of Legolas, and grabbed Theli's collar. "You. I want a few words with you. Legolas, you and Faramir go on ahead." 

Legolas' father didn't seem truly angry, more exasperated and annoyed. Theli wasn't making any attempt to get away, nor did he even give Legolas a reproachful look, or protest that he could never have expected that Legolas would actually go running off into danger. Legolas appreciated that. Instead, the healer nodded that Legolas should do as his father said, a rueful smile on his face. 

"I think that I got Theli into trouble." Legolas said, just as soon as they were out of sight. 

"Perhaps, yes, but I think he's been there before." Faramir comforted. 

Legolas winced as he heard a smack and then a yelp from Theli, but he did know for a fact that Theli had been in trouble many times before, and that the majority of those instances had been none of Legolas' doing. 

To Legolas' relief and likely Faramir's as well, almost everyone in the camp had already sought out their tents and bed rolls. Eowyn was almost alone by the fire, listening to a lecture from Baeraeriel, complete with demonstrations, about how best to fight while minimizing the pressure on bruised ribs. Baeraeriel broke off the demonstrations as Legolas arrived, which spared him the duty of being the responsible one, and telling her to stop. Faramir and Eowyn left for their tent, twined 'round eachother. Baeraeriel waited with Legolas until Thranduil returned. Theli had apparently volunteered to help with sentry duty, or been volunteered to do so, it wasn't clear which. 

An extra cot had been moved into Thranduil's tent, which lifted Legolas' spirits. It was not that he minded sleeping on the ground, but a cot would be a comfortable change, particularly as he'd be sleeping on his stomach. Legolas contemplated the cot, trying to determine how best to lie down without sitting down first. 

Thranduil chuckled. Legolas made a face at him. 

"Come here, then." The King invited, making room on his own cot and offering Legolas a hand. The young Prince did not hesitate to accept. 

"This was not a good way to make me want to come camping with you again, Legolas." Thranduil joked as his son curled up next to him. 

With a choked laugh, Legolas had to agree. "My hindquarters and I will both remember that, Ada." He promised. 

Thranduil's hand came up to gently stroke Legolas' white-gold braids. "Maybe we could try this again without so many evil spirits. Some, perhaps" Thranduil jested, "to add spice to the experience. But not so many." 

"I’d like that." Legolas agreed sleepily. "Maybe you would like to come to Ithilien. We have ghosts there, but not so many." 

"I’d like that." Thranduil paused, and then said uncertainly, "I can’t fix the past, ion-nin." 

"It's...it's not so much a fix…it was just a thing, you know." Legolas looked up to catch his father's eyes, "It caught me then, even though normally it bothers me not at all. Being here again, it's....it reminds me that I miss my sibs. Almost especially Lithidhren. He always made time for me." 

"And it was I who had forgotten that." Thranduil said regretfully, "Let me share with you my memories of Lithidhren… "


	19. Mountains of Mourning, Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Death ends a life, not a relationship.”   
> ― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays With Morrie

It was one of the first times that Thranduil had spoken of Legolas' older siblings in depth since their death. Legolas listened intently, smiling as he remembered one thing or another, or realized things that he had never known. It was not until his father spoke of his heir Thandrin, and Thandrin's dedication to duty, that Legolas again felt the call of the lands oversea. That was where his siblings now were, if they had yet been reborn. And that was where Legolas could not go, not for hundreds of years, because Thandrin, Lithidhren, and Eryntheliel were all gone, and Legolas had to be his father's heir. 

Legolas must have tensed, because Thranduil stopped speaking and scrutinized him intensely. 

"Legolas...in order for me to be able to care for you, you need to tell me what is troubling you. I cannot read your mind reliably, nor would I violate your privacy to do so." 

"I..." Legolas began, and then stopped. "I think that I'm just tired." If he said anything at all, he would end up confessing about the sea-longing, and he did not want to put that burden on his father. 

"I may occasionally be oblivious, but I am not an idiot, elfling mine." Thranduil said. Moving one arm to pin Legolas next to him, Thranduil used his other hand to apply a smart swat to his son's sore backside. 

"Ouch!" yelped Legolas. 

"Talk." Ordered Thranduil. 

"Fine, I'll....it's...." Legolas could not say it. He literally could not, the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn't disappoint his father, his family, his people, not like this. He couldn't fail them. It wasn't who he was, it wasn't who he wanted to be. He would just have to endure. 

Thranduil sat up, pulling Legolas half into his lap. With his elegant and calloused hands, the King brushed Legolas' hair and braids back behind his ears, then placed a finger under Legolas' chin to lift his face up. Thranduil's sapphire blue eyes stared into Legolas' green orbs, and saw the truths and the sorrows which Legolas could not bring himself to speak. 

"Ah." Said Thranduil, infinitely sad and tender, "Ai, elfling." He pulled Legolas into a loving embrace. That acceptance gave Legolas the peace to finally cry over this incipient loss, this betrayal of self. Legolas wept, comforted by his father's presence and reassuring woodsy smell. Legolas thought that his father might have shed tears, as well. It reminded Legolas of their early days back in the Northern Hall, only a few months after his mother and siblings had died. Those times when Legolas couldn't be strong anymore, or when something small had made him feel angry and despairing. Times when Thranduil had just held him, and let him cry and be sad. Legolas was surprised that he'd forgotten that, while remembering instead the pressure he'd felt to be happy, not to mourn. 

"All will be well, ion-laes-muin-nin." Thranduil swore, his arms sure and strong around Legolas. "I will make sure of it. I will send Lothgail in my place to the East Bight. You and I, and Theli, and a third of the guards, we will go to Mithlond." 

"To...to Mithlond?" Legolas gasped in confusion, "Why...." 

"'Tis best to sail as soon...." Thranduil paused, fear and determination evident in his proud features, "As soon as possible. I will not have you risk fading, not for anything. You will obey me, in this." 

"No." 

Thranduil gazed at him disbelievingly. 

Legolas couldn't help but laugh, wiping tears away as he did so. 

"The sea longing doesn't bother me, when I am in Ithlien, or Gondor. It is...there, but there like a cloud on the horizon. I know that it will bring rain when it comes, and the wind tells me when that will be. But I can enjoy the day until then, and I know...I know how long I have." 

"No one can know that, Legolas." Thranduil said gently. 

Legolas shook his head, "No, I do. I cannot explain exactly how, but I do. Not in years or days, but...it doesn't weaken me, as Lady Galadriel warned me that it would, if I fought it. I'm not fighting it, I'm just...putting it aside. And I can, in Gondor. They don't think in centuries, there, but just in seasons." 

Thranduil's eyes had narrowed at the mention of Galadriel, but he was listening. At the last, Thranduil nodded, as if understanding Legolas' reasoning even though he didn't like it. "But here," Thranduil said pensively, "where we plan to spend longer than you may have left just tearing a mountain apart in order to rebuild it...." 

Legolas nodded back. "Here, especially in the shadow of Emyn Duir, it hurts. I feel as if I am disappointing you, abandoning you. As if I am breaking faith with everything that Thandrin, Lithidhren, and Eryntheliel stood for, and died for. I...I cannot bear the thought of failing you, and all that your legacy has come to mean." 

"Oh, ion." Thranduil wrapped his arms around Legolas again, and held him tightly. "You are not failing me. Of course you are not. This is not something which you could have stopped." Thranduil moved back, and cupped Legolas' cheeks in his hands. "Listen to me, and listen well. You are a capable, dedicated warrior, but the war is over. This Wood no longer desperately needs your sword, nor even mine. You are not abandoning your post. I have lesser heirs aplenty, and," Thranduil smiled wryly, "every single one of them could make a better peace-time monarch than I." 

"Not true!" Legolas disagreed. And it wasn't. Well, it mostly wasn't. Thranduil was an expert military leader, but...well, Legolas had never known him as anything else. Thranduil and his family, staff and attendants had rather made an art out of making the government work around their King, with Thranduil serving admirably as a hard stop if anything truly needed to be dealt with by force. It was no secret that Thranduil's Chief Advisor and the forest elders and surviving lords and ladies and their staffs, did a lot more of the day-to-day work of running the kingdom, reserving only the most important decisions for the King unless Thranduil had specifically directed them otherwise, and even then offering their opinions and suggestions, which Thranduil rarely cared enough to second guess if they were not related to the military. So, starting from absolute scratch, perhaps many other elves could do better, at the non-military aspects of ruling the Wood. But Thranduil had held the position for over an Age, through the worst of circumstances. No one else had that authority. Not even Legolas, but if anything WERE to happen to Thranduil, he would at the least have the authority of being the great elven warrior's son. 

"Not more than you, now." Legolas amended. 

"No. Not better than me, now." Thranduil agreed, "I have earned that. But anyone who did not wish to follow, say, Lothgail or Silveril as Queen, could sail. I will begin having Lothgail assume more of the responsibilities that I had intended to pawn off on..... Well, more of my responsibilities." 

Legolas winced. It was not that Lothgail wouldn't be good at it, but Legolas knew that those duties were meant to have been his, and he still felt as if he was abandoning his father. He was also curious...."Not Lothgail's father, or mother, or uncle?" 

Thranduil shook his head. "I can better afford to lose an assistant treasurer than a chief treasurer or a general. Besides, they have indicated a desire to step aside in her favor." 

"You've already spoken of it?" Legolas wasn't sure whether to be glad or hurt. 

His father gave him a look. "Yes," Thranduil drawled, "When you were on the Quest." 

Legolas winced. His father still really did not approve of Legolas' decision to join the Quest, or of the idea of sending a hobbit to destroy the One Ring in general. A large part of that, Legolas knew, was because Thranduil had feared for the safety of his only living son. 

Thranduil, fortunately, did not seem to feel the need to go into all of that again. "It was a much harder question, then, Legolas." He continued more calmly, "The other circumstances were much the same, but Lothgail has no military background, nor does Silveril. My other heirs amongst the Elmoi are not of the Wood, and our older cousins are too accustomed to following my commands, too old and wise to have had any real hope of winning the war without me. You would have been the best to follow me, but after you...we were ready to write Glasseithel back into the succession, so that she could abdicate in favor of Baeraeriel." 

"Baeraeriel?" Legolas marveled. "Ada, she's...."

"She's too young, too rigid, and too hard. But she can hold, Legolas. And after the Battle of Five Armies, when she backed your bid to have support staff and forward-units in place long before I gave the order to join the battle...I knew that she could make up her own mind, and learn from past mistakes." Thranduill sighed, remembered worry and pain darkening his eyes, "If you had died on the Quest and I had died after, it would have been Baeraeriel or Ridhae to rule, of those with a military background who could be spared from the field. Baeraeriel is too hard, but Ridhae is too soft. In time, he would be better. He would be better, as a peace-time King. But if Glasseithel had not been disinherited by her parents for marrying without their leave, the better blood-right would be Baeraeriel's." 

"Cousin Glasseithel must have been furious." Baeraeriel and Televigil's mother had been heard to remark on more than one occasion that she'd rather sail with her children than have any of them become part of the succession again. 

"The thought of losing you had us all overset. She did not even object. Fortunately," Thranduil eyed his son again, "It did not come to that." 

"I'm sorry." Legolas said, laying back against his father's shoulder. 

"It is well, now. I decided to blame Mithrandir and Elrond, as you know. You were merely trying to help a friend." 

"And save the world. And if you had met Frodo, Ada, you would understand why...."

"Having heard of him in your words is enough, ion-nin. Peace. I understand." 

Thranduil even sounded like he meant it, which was good. Legolas didn't think that this father would be willing to let future opportunities to complain about the Quest pass him by, but at least Legolas now knew that he was forgiven. And more, that his father understood. That meant a lot. Legolas felt himself relaxing further, enough so to confess, "I do not know as I could have done better than Baeraeriel or Ridhae, truly, though I would have had the blood right and the status of being your son, besides....Ow!" Legolas cried, after his father applied another sharp swat to his tender backside. 

"You know I've little patience for self-denigration, Legolas." Thranduil said, not in the least apologetic. "You are young, yes, younger than all of your cousins, in fact. But you are not as hard as Baeraeriel, nor as soft as Ridhae. You are most often humble and wise enough to listen to advice, and yet sure enough of yourself to know when to disregard it." 

"Not always." Said Legolas, wincing as he remembered a couple of occasions when he would have done much better to have listened and kept himself from pulling rank. He winced again as he recalled a couple of times when he should have overruled even the well-reasoned objections of older but lower-ranking elves, and done what he'd known in his heart to be right. 

"Not always." Thranduil agreed, "But far more often than we had any right to hope for, in an elf of your age. I can recall but six times, outside of your largely-successful stints as regent, when you overcalled my officers. Twice you were right, twice you were wrong, and twice...well, if even I cannot be sure, then it was probably a good enough decision." 

"One of the times that I was right nearly didn't happen. Commander Eriston wasn't willing to pass on my order. If he hadn't overindulged in drink and passed command to his second, then I wouldn't have been able to get a message through to the General to move patrols back in the direction of the Enchanted Stream."

"Mmm." Thranduil said neutrally. After a moment, he added, "Theli drugged Commander Eriston's wine, with the complicity of his sergeant. The second-in-command was unaware. As, I suspected, were you." 

"I...did not realize that." Legolas really hadn't. Theli had done the same to him, once, when Legolas had just about decided to break orders and go back for a comrade they'd seen take a half-dozen arrows before being overwhelmed by orcs. Legolas had promised not to do that again, and Theli had promised not to drug him again. 

"Commander Eriston was warned that he had miss-stepped, and that repeated mistakes of the like would result in his demotion or reassignment to somewhere of lesser strategic importance. Your reputation amongst the military elves was enhanced by the whole episode. And I made it clear that it was my will that your will be followed, when you asserted yourself as Crown Prince rather than junior officer." 

 

Thranduil did not seem to expect nor want to be thanked for that. Legolas was still surprised that he'd been unaware of all of those things happening around him. At about the same time, Theli had been demoted, ostensibly for falling asleep at watch. 

"He was demoted for assaulting a superior officer." Thranduil explained, guessing correctly what Legolas was thinking, "And yes, drugging someone is an assault. We kept it quiet. He should have been dishonorably discharged and arrested, or at the least suspended for a century. But given why he acted as he did, and that I knew you valued his continued support, I did not let that happen." 

"Thank you." Legolas did have to say, at that. It was another time that Theli had protected Legolas' reputation and career at the expense of his own, and Thranduil knew that, too. 

His father nodded, then after a moment, said very seriously, "Legolas, just so that this is clear...this...this making the necessary arrangements for you to sail, it is not a demotion, for you. It is preparing to leave a post in the fullness of time, to take up....another one, in the West. I am going to have to start preparing someone else to take my place if the need arises, but really, I should have been doing that already, anyway." 

Legolas stifled a snort. 

Thranduil glared at him, mock-offended. 

"A couple of cousins and an advisor or two might have mentioned that." Legolas said, half-amused and half-apologetic.

"Interfering busybodies." Thranduil muttered, "But nevertheless, you have done well, as my heir. Your mother and your brothers and your sister would be proud. Thalion is proud." 

"He's mentioned so, several times, since last year." 

"Good. He'd told me before, but apparently never you, and you were the one who needed to hear it, most. We've all forgotten at times, how young you are, and usually to your detriment." 

"It is past." Said Legolas, even though that still bothered him, at times. 

"Mmm." Said Thranduil, considering him. "As someone who has succeeded admirably as my heir, I am very interested in your opinion, as to who should take your place and how they should be trained. I am thinking Lothgail, but I will not mention it to her, for the nonce. I will be interested in your opinion, as to how she handles herself with the Woodmen." 

Legolas frowned. "I thought that I might not have to go with you to the East Bight, now that you know I might not even be here when it comes time to deal with the Woodmen again." 

Thranduil laughed, full and long and bright. Then he slapped Legolas gently on the backside. "Think again, ion-nin. I am NOT leaving you here, not after you came here without word, started exploring on your own, and went running into a combat situation like a chicken with your head cut off." 

"It was worth a try." Legolas said, with only a hint of a sulk. 

Thranduil laughed again, laying them both down and securing Legolas comfortably against him. "Sleep now. Time enough to complain about going to see the Gorand in the morning, and on the way there." Thranduil glowered, "Belain knows I will be." 

Legolas laughed, because he was sure that would be true. He was relieved to have confessed to his father about the sea-longing, relieved to have found nothing but support. But he was also...sad. Sad that he would have to leave. 

"Ada, will you sing, for me? One of the forest rondels that Lithidhren would sing?"

"Will I...." Thranduil began, as if he couldn't quite believe the request. Then he sighed, and ran a gentle hand through Legolas' hair. "Yes, ion-nin, I will sing Lithidhren's songs, for you." 

And he did.


	20. Mountains of Mourning, Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Death ends a life, not a relationship.”  
> ― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays With Morrie

The next morning dawned chill and cloudy. Legolas awoke late, still warm and wrapped in blankets, lying on his stomach on his father's cot. Thranduil himself was gone, and most of the tent was packed up around Legolas. He hastened to repair his clothing, so that he didn't slow the process down any further. 

The campfire was roaring. Strong tea and spiced cider were being passed around, as well as porridge, chopped fruit and vegetables, grilled fish, and roasted quail. Legolas ate what was handed to him still standing, wondering whom to thank for letting him sleep in, until he was distracted by a worried Eowyn. 

"Smaug is never one to pass up quail or fish. Should we search for her?" 

"Give her some time." Thranduil counseled, with a fond nod of welcome in Legolas' direction. "She has enough sense to return before we get too far ahead. The horses are not even watered, yet." 

Faramir, likewise standing, expressed his agreement with Thranduil, then offered Thranduil and Legolas the sword he'd borrowed last night, the one which had belonged to Lithidhren. 

"Keep it." Thranduil said gruffly. "Unless Legolas has an objection." 

Legolas shook his head mutely, a bit overwhelmed. 

Faramir's normal tact deserted him, and he stuttered "I...cannot. It is too fine a blade, and your son's...." 

"Keep it." Thranduil said again, voice hard. "And Legolas, you keep Thandrin's sword. You should have something besides your knives, should you want a longer blade, and he would want that." 

Baeraeriel, beside Thranduil, nodded firmly. 

Legolas, sensing the direction this was going in, nodded his agreement, then went back into the tent to retrieve Eryntheliel's bow, and the arrows they'd collected from the ruins. 

"Eowyn, here." He offered, "You have no primary bow of your own, and my sister's will fit you." 

Having had a happier childhood than Faramir, and being innately gracious about these things besides, Eowyn did not demur. She did sincerely thank Legolas, and take the bow with gentle, firm hands, treating it as both a precious heirloom and an exquisite and deadly weapon. Eowyn, Legolas thought to himself, would probably wield the bow even better than Eryn had. Eowyn was a warrior to her soul, as Faramir was not, and as Eryntheliel and Lithidhren had not been. Legolas felt disloyal for thinking so, but....he could tell by looking at his father's face that the same thought had occurred to Thranduil. 

Faramir and Eowyn exchanged a telling glance. 

"Thank you." Said Eowyn again, "We will return them to you, or have our children's children do so, 'ere you sail." 

"Perhaps." Said Thranduil tightly. "But the offer is appreciated." 

"Aran-nin, Ernil-nin," Theli interrupted. Legolas noted with some interest that he was also standing, as well as being several shades more polite and formal than was his normal wont, "I beg your leave to return to Ithilien-en-Edhil. I want to be there for Lady Rian, in case the babe comes early, and to monitor her health." 

Thranduil frowned. "I should be there for the birth of my first grandchild." Thranduil was not distinguishing between his foster-son and his remaining blood son, and Legolas didn't mind. He'd never minded that. 

"You should finish up with the Woodmen in plenty of time." Theli pointed out. 

"True. Go ahead, Theli. Take Orthadvren and at least one other with you." Thranduil decided. 

Hiding a grin, Faramir asked Theli, "So, this has absolutely nothing to do with not wanting to see Lord Celeborn again?" 

"I really am needed in Ithilien -en-edhil." Answered Theli, without actually answering the question. 

Legolas was amused to see his father trying very hard to hide being intrigued by that exchange. After a moment or so, Thranduil seemed to give that up as a bad job. "What in the name of Orome did you do, to make you avoid Celeborn like the plague?" He inquired of Theli. 

"You really don't want to know." Theli answered, again without really answering. 

"I don't want to know, or you don't want me to know?" Thranduil asked wryly. 

"A bit of both, really," Said Theli with a cheeky grin, "but haven't you enough on your plate?" 

"True, but," Thranduil fixed Theli with a firm look, "If whatever-this-is comes back to trouble me, I am going to trouble you." 

"Yes, Aran-nin." Theli agreed meekly. 

The last of the clean-up and packing was interrupted by the return of Smaug-the-cat. She entered in grand fashion, her head held high and her tail up proudly. In her mouth she carried Lithidhren's prized metal quill, which she presented to Eowyn with a flourish. 

Eowyn handed it to Legolas, who knelt to give Smaug a caress and the last of his quail. Smaug acknowledged this tribute as her due. Curling her tail around herself, she gave the quail and Faramir's abandoned porridge her full attention, purring loudly. 

"You could have saved us all a great deal of trouble by finding this last night instead of gorging yourself on boar." Thranduil criticized the tabby, who ignored him as only a cat could. 

Soon enough, Smaug was in the special pouch attached to Eowyn's saddle, and their party was ready to depart. Thranduil had fortunately brought extra horses. Eowyn was to ride one of Brasseniel's remounts, Legolas had one of Thranduil's, and Faramir one of the horses belonging to Thranduil's guards. 

"Feeling better?" Faramir asked. 

"Yes." Answered Legolas firmly as he pulled himself up into his saddle. "And no," he added with a wince as his still slightly sore buttocks made contact with the saddle. "You?" He asked his friend. 

"The same, more or less." Faramir said with a slight, abashed smile, as he shifted uncomfortably in his own borrowed saddle. 

Eowyn circled them, seeming already at one with her prancing mount. Blond braid flying in the wind, she gave them a challenging grin. "I’ll race you to the end of the cleared road. The honor of your gender is at stake, gentleman." 

Legolas and Faramir both groaned. Thranduil chuckled, earning him a dark look from his son.

"How can you be married to that woman, gwador nin? Her sense of humor is appallingly cruel." Legolas complained. 

"Do not deride the strength of men, oh delicate elf." Faramir laughingly teased, before taking off after his slender wife. 

For a moment, Legolas just sat with his mouth agape while his irritating father laughed harder. Then he urged his mount forward at best speed, calling out, "Delicate! I’ll show you delicate, you upstart brat of a princeling!" 

They did not make good time the first day. The sun never came out, and very few parts of the road were clear enough to move faster than a careful trot. Thranduil pushed them through lunch and dinner with only quick breaks, despite seeming a bit stiff himself after their exertions of the past few days. 

During one of those breaks, Legolas noted Thranduil and Faramir speaking, intense and low. 

Later on, Thranduil caught Legolas' attention, and then nodded towards Faramir, who was listening to Eowyn speak animatedly about how some of the same planting techniques that Thranduil's elves were using to cleanse their land could be modified to work in Ithilien, and writing down some of it without ever once glancing away from Eowyn's face. Eowyn's hand stroked her mare's neck while Smaug leaned against her shoulder. The owl which had followed Eowyn from the house of the Beornings perched above them, watching the proceedings with interest. 

"It surprised me that you remember so little of your brothers and sister," Thranduil said quietly, "Because you have done a fairly good job of surrounding yourself with tolerable human parallels for them." 

Legolas' breath caught as he looked again at Faramir and Eowyn. In his mind's eye, he saw Eryntheliel and Lithidhren long ago, at a picnic quite near this very spot. Eryntheliel had been surrounded by a flock of birds, rather than just one owl, and Lithidhren had been sketching the birds and transcribing what Eryntheliel told him about the different species for a book he had been helping her to write, one put aside after they both died. 

"I...I hadn't even realized." Legolas murmured.

"Faramir is more sensible and easier to speak with than Lithidhren," Thranduil said, "And Eowyn is harder than was our Eryn. Your friends are older, relatively speaking, and have lived different lives. But yes, at the core of them, the spirit....there are some similarities. And almost more so, between your Aragorn and Thandrin." 

Legolas thought that his father was probably right about that, and was going to say so, when a question occurred to him. "I remember that you and Lithidhren used to argue. You said last night that it was because you were so different, and because you both liked to push one another to do things that did not come naturally to you. Is that why you like to make Faramir uncomfortable?" Legolas knew that Faramir could sometimes be annoying, the way he subtly pushed people to do what he thought would be for the best, but Thranduil seemed to get true joy out of catching Faramir off-balance. 

Thranduil didn't deny it. In fact, he even grinned for a moment. Then he gave Faramir a thoughtful look, and said musingly, "Perhaps. Your Faramir is normally so self-assured, a manipulator of what reality he wants there to be. Not in a deceptive way, but very...persuasively so. Yes, it does amuse me to leave him unsettled. Less so now that he is with Eowyn- he is less occupied with trying to control responses and expectations when they are together." 

Legolas nodded. "I can see that." 

Thranduil was silent for a moment. Then he drew in a breath as if he was about to speak, then let it back out. Legolas looked at him worriedly. Thranduil was almost never at a loss for words. He often stayed silent, but it was not because he wasn't sure whether he should speak or not, or what he should say. A lack of surety was something that Legolas' father rarely experienced, and even more rarely showed or admitted to. 

"Legolas," Thranduil said at last, and still only loudly enough for the two of them to hear, "about Faramir..." 

"He is as dear to me as a brother, Ada. He and Aragorn both." 

"I have no quarrel with that, ion, but I want you to listen to what I tell you now, and keep it in your mind." 

Thranduil waited for Legolas' nod before continuing, "Yes, your Faramir is a good friend, a brave and kind and honorable man. However, when you adventure with him, remember that you must make sure to pass on to Aragorn, or to whomever the relevant authority is, the full details of whatever events have transpired." 

Legolas frowned, "Faramir knows how to give a report, Ada." He said reproachfully. 

"Oh?" Asked Thranduil archly, "And what report did he give, of being kidnapped by a slaver with his brother and the sons of two of his father's political enemies, then talking the slavers into releasing them. After which they were attacked by orcs and wargs, and rescued an injured elf?" 

"Ada. He was nine years old." Legolas said exasperatedly, "The authority he would have been reporting to was Lord Denethor, who would have been....." Legolas struggled for the words to convey how bad of an idea informing Lord Denethor of those incidences would have been. 

"Yes, I do know that Faramir learned not to trust authority figures at an early age, Legolas, and for good reason. But what I want you to understand, is that such an instinctive reaction - to make your own way rather than seeking counsel when you are lost or overwhelmed - is a difficult thing to unlearn." 

Legolas shook his head, not understanding why his father didn't understand. "Faramir does trust Aragorn, Adar. He never trusted Denethor. That is the difference." Legolas explained. 

Thranduil sighed. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his words softer and slower, and even more pensive, "You know Faramir, but I knew his ancestor Imrzaor, and his other kin the Kings and princes of Arnor and Gondor. Having known them, I can tell you that your young sworn-brother keeps a lifetime of secrets, many of which are not his own to tell. He will tell your King the things that he thinks that your King needs to know, whether they reflect poorly on him or not, whether he has an answer to the problem or not. He trusts Aragorn that far, yes. But he has held his own command, and kept his own counsel, in a situation where there was no one above him whom he could fully trust. That is his default mindset; any other response will take time and experience for him to learn." 

When his father took the time to speak this seriously about something, Legolas always listened. He thought to himself that Faramir had trusted Boromir and imrahil, yes, but he had not trusted Boromir's judgment; and he had not trusted Imrahil not to let on what he knew to Denethor, if Faramir were to tell Imrahil more than he should know.

Appearing relieved that Legolas was listening, Thranduil continued, "There are matters and details with respect to which I believe your Faramir would keep silent, Legolas, when it would be better for Aragorn to know the whole picture. Be aware, of that. And, if it is appropriate, I expect you to speak for him, even if it displeases him. 

"I will." Legolas already had, at least once, but he didn't want to say so. And he'd already been warned of the same, in regards to Faramr, both before and after that incident. 

Thranduil considered Legolas. "Someone else has also told you this. Aragorn?"

"No. He does not fully understand it, I think. Why Faramir would feel that way. I don't, either. But no, it's not the first time I've been warned of it." Legolas answered, amused. 

"Do I even want to know?" Thranduil asked wryly. A pained expression crossed the King's face. "Please do not tell me it was the Lady Galadriel." More hopefully, he inquired, "Perhaps Elrond, or even Celeborn?" 

"It was my friend Gimli." Legolas answered, not sure whether to feel amused, because this would not please his father, or a little sorry for Thranduil, and a little sad for himself that his father was not pleased with a friend he had come to hold so dear.

"The dwarf." Said Thranduil, clearly unimpressed. 

"Yes. Gimli is like a brother to me, as well, you know." 

"It is, of course, your choice upon whom to bestow your affections." Thranduil said levelly. After a moment, he added, as if it was difficult to say, "I am sure that he is an honorable being." 

"He is. If he weren't a dwarf, and he weren't quite so blunt, I think that you might even like him." 

"He is as welcome in our home as any of your friends, ion-nin." Legolas' father assured him, although Legolas noted that Thranduil didn't look like he was sorry that he thought Gimli would be too busy in Aglarond to visit very often. Legolas tried not to mind. Thranduil actually seemed less opposed to dwarves than Lord Celeborn, and a number of older elves, so Legolas decided that he should just count his blessings on that score and not think about it anymore. It wasn't as if Gimli would be going to treat with the Woodmen. There would be dwarven traders there, like enough, but not the new Lord of Aglarond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear from you if you liked the story, and are so inclined. Encouragement is always appreciated!


	21. Mountains of Mourning, Part 8

They continued to make slow progress through the thick and sullen foliage on their way towards the East Bight to treat with the Woodmen. Thranduil was determined that they should take a straight path through the forest from the old Forest Road to the East Bight. After a day of fighting angered undergrowth, a number of still-hostile creatures, and a few lingering spiders and orcs, there was some discontent about that. Legolas, however, still rather liked his father's plan. He felt that going through the forest was for the best, to clear a way and reclaim the forest as they went. 

Lady Lothgail, Thranduil's chosen deputy for this upcoming treaty negotiation, was amongst those who disagreed. Lothgail wished for them to arrive in good time, and fighting their way through the forest was not the best way to achieve that goal. 

They camped that night in the lee of an old oak, but a stone's throw from the edge of the forest. The trees were closer to healing, here, and the light from the stars clearly visible. Lothgail, Brasseniel, Angolbrennil, Lord Medlion, Lady Haldis, Captain Tavordir, and several others practiced the dialect of Westron spoken by the Woodsmen. Faramir and Eowyn listened with interest, frequently managing a passable accent. 

Thranduil practiced pretending to understand the language of the Woodsmen only well enough to follow the gist of a conversation and know when he was being insulted, so that he could reasonably rely on the efforts of an interpreter. Faramir teased the great Eleven King over this, ever so carefully. It was quite a funny moment for Legolas to watch, and he was pleased to have the opportunity to do so. 

This was the most time that Thranduil and Faramir had spent with one another. Faramir, it seemed had concerns over Aragorn. 

"The burdens which rest upon him are many. I would like to know what I can do, to keep the duties of being a King from overwhelming Aragorn my friend." Faramir explained. 

Thranduil did not say much in response to that, but Legolas could tell that he approved of Faramir's attitude. After a time the King spoke to that concern, and then to his own fears for Aragorn's future son. 

"Aragorn's heir will need you greatly - none of you have any idea how hard it is, to be the Crown Prince and Heir apparent." The great elven King explained. 

Faramir coughed quietly, inclining his head in Legolas' direction. 

"I am right here, Ada." Legolas complained, in mixed exasperation and fondness. 

Thranduil laughed quietly, putting an arm over Legolas' shoulders and drawing his son close to him. 

"So you are, ion-nin. I do not mean to belittle your experiences, truly, however..." 

"I had twenty years of a relatively normal elflinghood, 'ere I was your first heir." Legolas agreed. 

"Aye," Said Thranduil, "and it was a time of war, again, by then. The vast majority of the most noisome meddlers and gossips had their own concerns, or they had sailed. There was less of the...constant watching, to see when I would make a mistake, and the elaborate, planned protests and power plays, when I did." 

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "There was little of that. There was pressure to be...you, or as much you as I could, which was far too high a goal, but if you had died, I would have been expected to be a figurehead. It would have been expected, for a fair time, that one of the older cousins would have guided me." 

"A figurehead with the ultimate decision-making authority, Legolas." Lady Lothgail reminded her younger cousin, "And when you served as regent, you did so well." 

Legolas smiled his thanks, before noting, "I was not alone, though." He could quite well remember Lothgail and her parents and grandmother sitting up and drinking a whole pot of tea and helping him, as he went through an endless stack of petitions from his father's different officers. 

"I was not alone, either, when I became King." Said Thranduil, "But I was alone, growing up, in what I had to be. And in peace time, before we had the forest to reconquer, that was harder. It's annoying, again, now, but...perhaps I am just tired of war." Thranduil concluded. 

Lothgail smiled at her cousin the King, then remarked, "It is less annoying, now, I think, cousin Thrani. Many of the elves of whom Ada and Nana once complained about the most have sailed. That may have helped. Those of us who are left..." 

'Twas Faramir, who continued, "We're the survivors, all of us." 

Lothgail saw that they all had wine in their flasks, and then she proposed a toast, "To the Greenwood and Gondor- the two fire-breaches of Middle Earth. Eru and Mandos and Namo bless and care for those we have lost." 

"Aye," Said Faramir fervently, "And help us to make the most of our peace." 

Eowyn wrapped a hand around her husband's. "There is that one good thing, about war." She said, in her chill soprano, "Most of us had no time to be enemies, to make too much trouble. We had enough of it with the real enemies." 

"Well, yes," Faramir agreed dryly, "With the possible exception of Gondor's council." 

"It is the nature of Councils to be troublesome." Thranduil noted wisely, "It is why I only let mine meet once or twice a year, at odd times." 

Faramir laughed. "How does that work?

Legolas and most of the others hid their smiles, or in some cases, their frustration. 

"Not well, truly," Confessed Lothgail, "But everyone who is important and helpful comes over for dinner once a week. We thrash things out then." 

"Well, any system that functions, I suppose." Faramir approved. 

The conversation moved on, but as the fire died, Faramir's concerns seemed to turn again to the burden his future Prince would bear. 

"Cousin," He asked Thranduil, "What can I do, to help this be easier for the child of my friends - our new prince or princess?" 

"Be a friend." Thranduil answered frankly, after thinking the matter over for a few minutes."Don't hold him -or her - to an impossible standard." 

Legolas thought of his father's relative patience, if whatever mistake or misfeasance Legolas had committed hadn't been something actually hurtful or physically dangerous. Even the time when Legolas' tutors and other caregivers had been furious and disappointed with their prince for systematically pretending that his lessons were harder for him than than they were, from the the time he was twenty-one until the time he was forty-five - so that he could spend more time on his weapons lessons - Thranduil had handled the whole matter with relative equanimity. Even on the occasions when Legolas scared him and Thranduil's quick temper ignited and flared, he was usually able to forgive quickly. Oh, he would still remind Legolas of whatever he'd done- such as going on the Quest - but more in a manner that was sardonically affectionate and don't -ever-do-that-again then truly indicative of lingering anger. Not that it was fun to be reminded of your foibles again and again, but, well....the pressure Thranduil spoke of, Legolas had not really felt. 

Thranduil was still talking when Legolas finished his mental detour. 

"Have children, when you and your Lady are ready. Playmates for your new prince, other younglings who share some of the same responsibilities, if not all." 

That hadn't been what Faramir and Eowyn wanted to hear, Legolas thought. Faramir gave no impression of it, for his face normally told listeners only what he wanted it to. Eowyn sighed. 

"I do beg your pardon, Eowyn." Thranduil soothed, "My wife and I waited well over two thousand years, between Thalion and Thandrin. I would be the last criticize. It is a personal matter." 

Legolas' cousin Televegil, proving yet again that he could be blunt and insensitive beyond words, said, "And at least this way no one will think that you're trying to marry your offspring to the Heir to the Throne. People always said that, about Brasseniel's older sister Sedilien and Thandrin, and about Baeraeriel and Thandrin, and about Lithidhren and Cellillien, and Lithidhren and ...." 

"Daro, Celuvorchil!" Thranduil snapped, at the same time that Baeraeriel glared her brother into silence. 

This time Faramir's eyes widened and he turned a peculiar shade of green, and it was Eowyn who remained calm. It was an overreaction from Faramir, and Legolas wondered at it. 

The next day, Faramir pulled him aside, and asked Legolas to promise to stop that happening, should Faramir and Eowyn both die before any children of their union became old enough to marry. 

"I will not, even if I have not yet sailed." Legolas reprimanded, feeling great relief at being able to admit that possibility to himself, at the same time that he was slightly appalled with his dear friend. "What is wrong with Aragorn and Arwen? Surely not that Arwen is part-elven!" 

"It is not Arwen." Faramir said, holding secrets in his eyes. "It is...just, trust me when I tell you that it must not happen. Please." 

Legolas trusted Faramir with his life, with Aragorn's life, or Gimli's. Even with his father's life, but he could not understand this. 

Faramir, who saw so much, must have seen that as well, for he spoke again. "Legolas, have you seen the only son and heir of the Lord of Lossarnach?" 

"The poor child." Said Legolas, remembering how he struggled to speak, and to walk. Now beginning to understand his friend's fear, Legolas pointed out, "But, Faramir, you and Aragorn are only distantly cousins." 

"And Eowyn. And many times over, at that. Eowyn and I are both descendants of Elros, and then of Imrazor and Mithrellas. Most directly, Eowyn and I are third cousins, both great-great-grandchildren of Prince Aglahad of Dol Amroth. Aragorn is a descendant of Elros, and of Imrazor and Mithrellas, through Princess Firiel, who was herself the granddaughter of a Prince of Dol Amroth, on her mother's side. And Aragorn is a many-times great-nephew of Imrazor, through his grandmother Ivorwen." 

"Many of the great families of Gondor, and of my people, are just as closely interrelated!" Legolas protested. 

"You begin to see the problem, then." 

Legolas sighed. "You are being....." He was about to say ridiculous, but then he cut himself off. Faramir was Finduilas' son, and she had had a great-aunt who had been so lost to the visions as to spend most of her life in tortured confusion. That form of mental instability ran in the same blood lines as prophets and seers. And Aragorn's grandmother was the most famed seeress of the Northern Dunedain, of not just her own generation but also of many generations previous. Faramir couldn't see the future, but he caught glimpses, from time to time. 

"You are afraid." Legolas concluded. 

Faramir nodded, relieved to be understood. "My great-aunt Anelis did not life a happy life. If Lady Galadriel had not been able to help my mother when my mother was still a child, my mother might have been lost to her visions, as well." 

"Very well, Faramir, I will keep an eye on them, if I am still here, but..." Legolas shrugged, a habit he had picked up from his human friends and one which older elves, even his father, absolutely despised, "I may have sailed." 

Faramir smiled at him, clearly relieved, and apparently for more than one reason. "So you have told your father of that." 

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "And not a week too soon, it seems...." 

"Aragorn was worried." 

"And yet he chose you to tell my father if I did not? And here I thought that Aragorn loved you...." Legolas said, putting an arm around Faramir's shoulders and drawing him back to the fire. Legolas was glad that he did not have to worry about these things that humans did, and even more so when Eowyn caught his eyes and thanked him with a silent nod. That she worried about this as well bothered Legolas. But there was nothing he could do about it, and it was far in the future, so he put it out of his mind. Only a few years later, Legolas would want to smack Faramir, and kick himself, for not having realized by that fear that Faramir already then knew himself for the King's son.


	22. Chapter 22

The following day saw their party stopped for hours, in order to clear out old nests of giant spiders. Thranduil finally relented on the issue of their route, and so they moved from the forest to the now well-worn path encircling it. 

"Traders, moving again." Thranduil commented, seeming torn between approval and a dislike of so many people. 

"They will move much more swiftly once there are roads through your wood." Eowyn noted, stroking the soft neck of her horse. 

"And we can charge tolls." Said Lothgail's favorite scribe, Barant, with eager anticipation. 

"No tolls." Said Thranduil disgustedly, at the same time as Lothgail, although she seemed slightly wistful. She was the daughter of the Wood's chief treasurer, and undoubtedly could have thought of a half dozen hundred ways to which such funds could be well-put.

"Tolls can be counterproductive, to a trade route which is only just being reestablished." Faramir counseled calmly. 

That evening saw them meeting with Lord Celeborn and his escort, fresh from a visit to Imladris to admire the elven Lord's new grandchildren. 

"Adoptive grandchildren." Pointed out Aran Thranduil, even though he would have been quite put out had anyone said that Thalion's future child would only be his foster-granddaughter. 

"Mine, by law, and by bonds of the heart." Countered Lord Celeborn gently. "And despite not being ours by blood, they somehow resemble my Lady." 

"That is not so surprising, Cousin." Said Eowyn, "Your son Orophin has something of her manner, and Lady Elain is luminously light-haired." 

Celeborn favored her with a smile. Legolas hid a smile of his own, at the expression on his father's face at contemplating two small Galadriels. Legolas had only met Lady Galadriel a handful of times prior to the Quest, but his father had found something objectionable about the great lady at every meeting. It had not seemed to bother Galadriel in the slightest, which had only vexed Thranduil further. 

The conversation between Celeborn and Thranduil turned to matters which had occurred hundreds of years before Legolas' birth. The two great warriors and leaders of elves shared the same plate at dinner, and Thranduil deigned to lean against Celeborn's shoulder as their fire burned low that night, actually listening to Celeborn's advice about how to manage his kingdom's upcoming road-building project. Legolas marveled that Lord Celeborn seemed to know exactly how to word his explanations and suggestions, so as not to put his father's nose out of joint. 

It was a shock to realize how close his father was to this elf Legolas had only met twice before, that he could remember. The first time in Lothlorien during the Quest, just after Mithrandir's first death. Celeborn had been very kind to Legolas then, treating him almost like a long-lost grandchild. Given how bereft Legolas had felt, that unexpected affection and regard had been most welcome. Unfortunately, Lord Celeborn had been very distrustful of Gimli, which had been less helpful, to the extent that Legolas had begun to avoid his company by the end of their sojourn in the Golden Wood. 

Legolas had met Celeborn again at Aragorn and Arwen's wedding. Someone had clearly had a long talk about the sterling merits of dwarves with the Lord of Lothlorien, for his eyes were were at least neutral, even reservedly respectful, rather than cold when he greeted Gimli after the war. Legolas wondered if it had been his wife, who favored Gimli with more dances at the wedding feast than anyone but her own family. Or perhaps it had been enough that Gimli's hands were amongst those holding Rumil's brains in his head, after the youngest of Lord Celeborn's son had taken an enemy axe to the head at the siege of Helmsdeep. 

Now that Legolas thought of it, he'd heard tales of Celeborn from his father, and his cousins, and his father's friends and their older children. Stories about how he and Thranduil had been very close, once. Of how Celeborn had been like another father to Thranduil, and to Legolas' grandfather Oropher. He dimly remembered even older stories, of how Celeborn and Celepharn, Legolas' great-grandfather, Oropher's father, had been the best of friends as well as cousins. 

But none of that had prepared Legolas for having his father treat this familiar stranger as if he was a member of their inner circle, close family who could be trusted with the full story of what had just nearly happened at Emyn Duir. For Thranduil then to bear Celeborn's scolding with any grace at all was practically too much to believe. Then they began once again to talk with passion and depth about elves who had died, or sailed, or become old and boring, before Legolas was even born. 

"It must be very challenging, at times, to be an elf of your generation." Faramir commented, too quietly for anyone but Legolas and Eowyn beside him to hear. "Almost like coming into a conversation that has been going on for centuries, where there is no way to know where all the currents lie." 

Legolas was so surprised that he almost choked on a laugh, because that was indeed very much how it was. 

"It is rather the same with us." Eowyn confessed, with a small amused smile that Legolas had only seen once before the end of the war, and was pleased that he now saw with increasing frequency, "When we are with Aragorn and Arwen, and you and their brothers." Eowyn finished. 

"Not always, though." Faramir spoke up, evidently trying to change subject, "Sometimes it is...."

"Gimli and Faramir bet on how many years ago different events might have happened." Eowyn shared, fair bubbling with mirth, "When the five of you get started reminiscing." 

Legolas snorted with laughter at his heart-brother's chagrined expression. 

"Do you, then?" He teased, "Who is winning?" 

"Gimli." Confessed Faramir, his slate grey eyes starting to warm as he saw the humor in the situation, "But only by a gold coin. From having been on the Quest with you, he had enough context to realize that Aragorn was actually present for Glorfindel befriending a marmoset which then stole his favorite whetstone. I was winning by half a coin purse, before that." 

"I remember that journey." Legolas mused, "Lord Glorfindel was furious. He was certain that it was me or Aragorn or Elladan, having him on." 

"Don't tell Aragorn." Asked Faramir, changing the subject again. 

"I won't." Said Legolas, with a wolfish grin, before qualifying "Provided that you cut me in, of course." 

Faramir muttered about that being tantamount to robbery on the high seas, and Eowyn laughed at the both of them. 

The topic of conversation the next night was how best to work on healing the southern part of the Greenwood, while keeping the Woodmen and the Beornings and the returning and growing human populations appraised and involved. 

"Or at least non-confrontational." Said Lothgail, with resigned honesty. Thranduil appeared to approve of her cynicism. Legolas had noticed that Thranduil had been letting Lothgail take the lead, in many of these discussions. And when she asked the King questions, where he once would have given an answer, he now turned the question back around, and asked Lothgail what she would do. Lothgail was handling herself fairly well, Legolas thought. She had a good handle on just about everything that wasn't military related, and she was willing to defer to the officers on those matters. 

Legolas observed Celeborn noticing Thranduil's pushing Lothgail to the forefront. Celeborn didn't say anything, but he did look at Legolas, his gaze sad and knowing and proud, all at the once. Legolas flushed when he realized that Celeborn must know of the sea-longing, from Galadriel or from Elrond, or most alarming yet, even perhaps from Thranduil. What Lord Celeborn might think of Thranduil's choice of Lothgail to stand in for him as heir to Greenwood, Legolas did not know. Legolas did know that some would not like the decision, because although Lothgail was descended in part from Sindar of rank on both sides of her family, one of Lothgail's other grandfathers was Sindarin but a commoner, and one of her great-grandmothers was a Noldo. Legolas did not think that would bother Lord Celeborn - he had, after all, married a Noldo, and his own adopted sons were commoner wood-elves of no known blood-line whatsoever. 

Those same reasons which would make Lothgail a difficult heir for some few of the remaining Sindar to accept likely made her only a more agreeable choice to Thanduil, who liked to stir things up from time to time. But the King was letting Lothgail stand on her own, for now. 

"We once had a very good relationship with the humans who lived in the lands to the south and east." Said Lady Haldis, with only a small amount of reproof in her voice. Lady Haldis and Lord Medlion were Thranduil's (or more properly his Aunt's) choice of elven ambassadors to East Lorien and the East Bight, meant to begin the healing of the Forest there. The couple were, in the main, an easy going pair whom Legolas didn't even remember much from the North Hall, growing up. But they did seem to have a bit of a chip on their shoulder, about an elleth who had been born in the Third Age, even as early in the Third Age as Lothgail, opining about anything. Thranduil watched them narrowly, and Legolas thought to himself that he was glad, in some ways, to have escaped being his father's next-heir during this time of peace. Haldis and Medlion treated Legolas as if he were a talented but mischievous school boy, merely tut-tutting him over nearly getting a third of a company killed at Emyn Duir. 

"Times have changed." Lord Celeborn remarked mildly, "And the memories of men can be even shorter than their years. It is a situation which we must approach delicately." 

"True enough." Lord Medlion conceded, "I wish that your father or mother were here, Lothgail. They have a way about these things." 

At the moment, Lothgail looked as if she wished her parents were here, too. 

"'Tis actually a pity that we couldn't keep Theli Lord Balrog-Chaser about." Put in Captain Tavordir, who was to accompany Lord Medlion and Lady Haldis, and whom Legolas remembered hearing had once had Theli in his unit for the better part of a century. 

"I would agree." Said Celeborn, to Legolas' surprise. "Your young Lord Ecthelion has quite a way about him, with humans. He was crucial to convincing the sixteenth Gorand to add the potato clause, and that was well before you ennobled him, Thranduil. He would have been an asset." 

The conversation moved on, and gradually Lord Medlion and Lady Haldis, and Captain Tavondir and sub-officers, departed the fire so that only Thranduil and his family, and Eowyn and Faramir and Celeborn, remained. Celeborn took the opportunity to make a request of Legolas' father. 

"Do bring Lord Ecthelion with you Thranduil, the next time that we meet. I have something I would like to speak to him about. Strangely, we have not been in the same time at the same place since the need for this conversation first arose some decades ago." 

"I need Theli for Legolas. In Gondor." Denied Thranduil, remarkably blank-faced. 

"Your youngest son does not seem the type of young elf to need a healer in constant attendance." Replied Celeborn, who appeared clearly dubious of that claim. Legolas probably hadn't helped by looking surprised at the idea himself, or so he gathered from Faramir's tapping the ground with a hand. It was one of the signals he used in council, to remind Aragorn to keep his calm so as not to queer a political gambit prematurely. 

"Oh, you would be surprised, Cousin Cel." Thranduil replied, giving his son a wry, fond look, but still clearly not engaging on the issue of forcing one of his retainers to be in a foreign leader's presence if he did not want to, even if said foreign leader was also a beloved member of Thranduil's family. 

"Your Adar reminds me of Aragorn, in that." Said Faramir, when he and Eowyn and Legolas spoke of it later that evening. "Aragorn would protect me - or any of us- from even my brother-by-law Eomer-King, scold us as much as Aragorn might himself in private." 

"Sometimes especially from Eomer." Added Eowyn, who still got into occasional arguments with her dearly beloved brother. "Up to a certain point, of course." 

"You are much the same, meleth." Said Faramir fondly, "Defending Legolas and Thalion from their Adar until he went scarlet then icy with rage." 

"Then laughed like I've rarely ever before heard him laugh, for the joy of having some slip of a human girl stand up to him." Remembered Legolas fondly, of Thranduil's first meeting with Eowyn. 

"I wasn't trying to enrage him, or amuse him." Eowyn protested, blushing. "I was just tired of having him criticize you and Thalion. It's not easy, building a settlement out of almost nothing." 

"Criticizing is one of the ways Ada shows affection." Legolas explained again, his eyes twinkling. "It was still quite something." 

The next night, the last before they arrived at the East Bight, Thranduil again spent most of the twilight hours in conversation with Lord Celeborn, about elves whom Legolas knew very little about, or at least, nothing this exciting. 

"It is extremely odd to me that Thalion is married now, and will father a child come next spring. Let alone Haldir and Orophin already having elflings of their own." Said Thranduil. 

Celeborn chuckled. "It is not so odd, to me. That is the way of things, you elflings grow up and have children of your own. I remember the first time I felt that way....Celebrian was quite young, perhaps only twenty and two." Celeborn glanced over to the listening Faramir and Eowyn. "That would be about nine years of age, for a human child." He explained. "She had run off, in a temper with Galadriel and I for planning to leave Khazad-dum to found Eregion. She had made friends amongst the dwarflings, and did not want to leave them." 

"I recall hearing something of that." Said Thranduil, though his brow had wrinkled at the thought that Celebrian, of whom Legolas knew his father had once been quite fond, living with and befriending dwarven children. "Wasn't that the day that Celebrian first met Erestor?" 

"Yes, indeed. Good memory, Thranduil-nin." Praised Celeborn, with a father's affectionate smile for Legolas' own father. "Celebrian brought Erestor home with her. His parents, Arandil and Elain, had only just arrived, to serve as Ereinion's ambassadors in Eregion. I remember first seeing Arandil again..." Celeborn shook his head, "He was so young, when first I met him. A squire of King Turgon's, at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. I was wounded, just coming from the healer's tent, and he was....well, he was..." Celeborn considered his audience again, and then continued, "He was vomiting, overwhelmed by the horror of the day. Glorfindel picked him up, put his sword back in his hand, and made him go stand watch." 

That sounded fairly horrible to Legolas. He knew that neither Faramir nor Eowyn would approve, although Faramir at least appeared unsurprised. 

"Typical Glorfindel." Derided Thranduil, with a snort."If it can't be killed or beaten, then make it go stand watch." 

"Or dig privy trenches." Countered Celeborn, with a wry smile. Legolas got the distinct impression that his amusement was at Thranduil's expense. 

Faramir spoke then, sparing Legolas' father any further embarrassment. "That is how Lord Glorfindel shows affection and respect, is it not? By showing someone that he still trusts them to do the job he selected them for?" 

"It is." Agreed Celeborn, his amused look now moving to Faramir and becoming more thoughtful, "And Arandil, being his only son, and then called Glorendil, did know that. Especially since he had not been selected by Glorfindel, who would have preferred he stay in Gondolin, but rather by Turgon, who thought that he deserved the chance to test his vocation. Though if Turgon had known...if any of us had known....how that day would go...." 

"It is good that power is gone, and its servant, too." Concluded Faramir gravely. 

"Aye, young one." Agreed Celeborn, "And young was Arandil, when he first became a father. Less than four hundred, practically an elfling having his own elfling." 

"Although had he not raised Lord Elrond and Lord Elros, by then, or had a hand in it?" Asked Faramir, going again toe to toe with the elder elves. 

"Undoubtedly what he would have said," Conceded Celeborn, again amused, "Had I had the ill grace to tell him I thought him far too much a youth himself to have a child of his own. Alas, I managed to hold my tongue, and he and Elain helped to raise my child, as well as their own." 

Thranduil looked as if there were a multitude of things he wanted to say, but he managed to settle for, "I can remember when Thalion was still a child, and you were..." 

"Unfairly critical, perhaps. You handled fatherhood and kingship descending upon you at the once far better than I had expected." Celeborn said, apologetic and sympathetic and proud all at the once. 

Thranduil raised an elegant hand, palm-up, in the elven equivalent of a shrug. As if it didn't matter to him that Celeborn had said so, even though Legolas was fairly certain that it did. 

"You helped to raise my sons, when they were in your Kingdom, as well." Celeborn added. 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "Theli did not do as badly as you would imply." 

"Peace, Thranduil. I did not mean that." 

"Well, good." 

Faramir, who had a pathological need to defuse tension, asked, "Were Lords Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil in the Greenwood, when they put honey in Lord Arnuzir's bed roll?" 

Thranduil stared at Faramir, while Legolas stifled a laugh. Eowyn looked amused and interested, and rather to Legolas' surprise, so did Lord Celeborn. 

"I don't think I ever heard about that, so probably, yes." Celeborn concluded, looking to Thranduil for confirmation. 

"Yes, it was in the Greenwood." The King said, still giving Faramir an irritated look. "It was, apparently, your human long-father Valandil's idea. He was staying with my wife and I in the Greenwood, for part of that summer." 

"King Valandil of Arnor was my lord Aragorn's long-father, not mine." Faramir corrected gently, as Eowyn took his hand, "I am descended from the House of Hurin, not from the line of the Kings of Arnor." 

"You all look alike." Snapped Thranduil, who had in fact called Faramir by the name of "Aragorn" on several different occasions, since first meeting him. 

"In any case," continued Thranduil, continuing to eye Faramir as if to preempt further interruptions, "Valandil convinced Rumil it would be amusing to cause that pompous ass Lord Arnuzir to have a physically uncomfortable, and sartorially embarrassing, experience." 

"Just Rumil, then?" Celeborn said, more amused than upset by his son's youthful antics. 

"Oh, no, they pulled my Thalion into it." Thranduil gave his elder cousin an irritated look, as if Rumil's getting Thalion into trouble had been partially Celeborn's fault, "Orphin insisted that he had been involved as well," Thranduil then continued, "Although I'm fairly sure that he'd gotten his vengeance by baiting Lord Arnuzir into saying ridiculous things over the evening fire." 

"That does sound like my Orophin." Celeborn agreed, with a tender smile. "Well, it was almost an age ago, and it sounds like you and Theli handled the matter. And it is certainly not as if they were the first young elves I have ever known to think it was funny to drizzle honey on an honored ally in the night...." 

"A bear did that." Thranduil disagreed, almost hiding a blush. 

"Yes, in your Wood, cousin, where most of the bears are on speaking terms with you and your offspring." Commented Celeborn wryly. 

"Saruman deserved much worse." Said Thranduil, his humor and his blush disappearing, and his voice turning cold. 

"He did, at that." Celeborn agreed. Legolas rather got the feeling that if Saruman had been before them now, Celeborn would have struck him down so that Thranduil didn't have to. 

A moment of silence reigned over the fire, with Legolas and everyone else lost in their own dark thoughts. Legolas realized that he did not want these words to be the last that were spoken that night, or the image of Saruman the one he carried into his dreams. Yet he couldn't think of anything to say. 

Faramir evidently could, and asked, "I'd noticed that Thalion, Orophin, and Rumil share a strong friendship. Did they spend much time as playmates, growing up?" 

"A fair amount." Conceded Thanduil, seeming grateful for the change of topic, "Thalion was not the only war orphan in the Greenwood, but there were not in truth that many. Celeborn's adopted elflings came every year to visit Theli, and sometimes later just to visit Thalion, when Theli was off on patrol. Thalion was only a decade older than Rumil, and that time means little, after only a few years." 

"Thalion bridged the gap in age between Orophin and Rumil, and helped them develop a strong friendship outside of Orophin's one-time role as elfling minder." Added Celeborn, "I was very grateful for that, then, and continue to be. Haldir was older, and occupied with his military training, which left Orophin lonely, at times." 

"And Haldir was also old and stodgy before his time." Said Thranduil, which led to another polite not-quite-an-argument between Celeborn and Thranduil, but it seemed to be an old and familiar one, and was a much better note upon which to end the evening than talk of Saruman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you if you are enjoying the story, thank you so much for reading either way!


	23. Dear Sauron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was it that Sauron wanted so badly in the Greenwood, to besiege it for over a thousand years?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This story takes place in the early Third Age, around year 5 of the Third Age. So, a few years after the death of Isildur at Gladden Fields in T.A. year 2 and well before Elrond marries Celebrian in T.A. 109. 
> 
> A/N 2: I am using a number of Kaylee and Emma's elven OCs in my stories, with their kind permission. Queen Minaethiel is one of those OCs. 
> 
> A/N 3: This was written a long time ago, and I am just now getting around to posting it here. I have made few changes to it, so please excuse any errors or inconsistencies with other stories!

The King of the Greenwood mostly liked having a wife, and a fosterling. Thranduil did not particularly like being a King. He had gradually learned that 'I'm going camping/fishing/walking with my wife and our foster-son' was an excellent excuse for postponing many royal duties and tasks, and even an enjoyable one. 

And particularly so during the visits of the young human King Valandil, Isiludur's only living son and heir. Valandil was the ward of Thranduil's cousin Elrond, the Lord of Imladris. When he attained his majority, Volandil would have much less time for visits and youthful fun. But for now, his mother Kiriel reigned in his stead as Queen Regent of Arnor, and Valandil was free to visit his distant kin in Lothlorien and the Greenwood. 

Thranduil blinked, startled out of his reflections by a shower of clear droplets assaulting his previously dry face and tunic. Thranduil's cousin Celebrian grinned at him impishly from her seat on the other side of the creek they were fishing in, before kicking another light spray of water in his direction. 

"A copper for your thoughts?" She teased. 

Not particularly wanting to share, Thranduil replied with mock-hauteur. "I am merely hoping that you will be a gracious loser when the Greenwood once again shows the Goldenwood elves to be poor fishermen." Thranduil gestured to the heavy barrel of fish he, his escort, and his foster-son Thalion had caught over the course of the morning, in comparison to the much lighter barrel containing the fish netted by Celebrian and the younger two of her adopted brothers. 

That distracted his silver-haired cousin and her rambunctious brothers quite nicely, allowing Thranduil to return to his ruminations as Thalion and Volandil stood up for the honor of the Greenwood. 

Taking in Thalion as a foster-son had worked out surprisingly well, Thranduil mused, in terms of it having given Valandil a contemporary with whom to relate at Thranduil's court. Both youths had lost their fathers, and both were naturally of a solemn, responsible bent. As was Orophin, who had also lost his father to the war. Rumil, the youngest of Celebrian's foster brothers, tended to be boisterous and outgoing, albeit in a friendly way. He had a generally positive effect on the elder elflings and Valandil, and it was nice to see them relaxing a bit. 

Thranduil concentrated on enjoying the afternoon, the way the dappled sunlight reached down through layers of green leaves and the soft whispers of the trees. The way his wife Minaethiel frowned adorably with concentration as Valandil, Rumil and Thalion tried to show her how the humans wove bright string into bait lures, and the way that Celebrian and Elrond exchanged sweet, somewhat sappy smiles when they thought that no one was looking. The way that these children, born in a time of war and terror, now acted like children and played together. Unusually content with the world in this moment, Thranduil listened with half an ear as the children chattered and the creek rushed and babbled. 

Elrond and Celebrian must have been paying closer attention, since one of them had the sense to toss a small pebble in Thranduil's direction to warn him when the topic of the ring came up. Or rather, THE RING. The ring that Sauron had forged, that he'd used to try to conquer their world in blood and fire. The ring that their great enemy had worn when his creatures had slayed Thranduil's father Oropher, and Thalion's father Aerandir, and Orophin's father Emlyn, not to mention Valandil's grandfather Elendur, and Elrond's foster-brother Ereinion Gil-galad, and Celebrian's uncle Amdir. The ring that Valandil's father Isildur had failed to destroy, despite Elrond's strenuously urging him to do so. The ring which had probably led to Isildur's death on Gladden Fields, when Thranduil had come only too late to his aid. 

In any case, Elrond, Celebrian, and Thranduil were sensitive to the possibility that the topic of the ring might distress Valandil. Thranduil would have expected Thalion and Orophin to also have realized that, and felt rather disappointed in them. He glared at his foster-son, who was inconveniently facing in the other direction. 

"Yes," Orophin continued, "It really is a shame that THE RING wasn't lost in a well-hidden pile of a bunch of other rings." 

Thranduil's eyes finally made contact with Thalion's. The dark-haired elfling took a brief, horrified breath of realization. Then he kicked Orophin, nodding subtly in Valandil's direction. 

But Valandil, fortunately, seemed interested and amused rather than grieved. Thranduil forbore from further comment for the time being, although he did glare at Orophin's cousin Ecthelion, called Theli, when that elf, who was an adult and a healer in Thranduil's employ and who should have known better, also joined in the discussion of the ring. 

"Hmm." Continued Theli whimsically, "Like, perhaps if it were a ring in a forest of rings." 

Thranduil was so distracted by that comment, that he barely heard the next one.

"Dear Disembodied Spirit of Sauron," Orophin jested, "We tossed your precious ring into the maw of a kraken. That kraken is currently living at the bottom of a crocodile and mosquito infested swamp. Good luck in getting it back. Hugs and kisses, the elves and men." 

Valandil laughed, and so did everyone else. Even Thranduil smiled, through his abstraction, as he mused through the germ of an idea. 

On the way home from that fishing trip, Thranduil pulled Valandil aside, and then Minaethiel and Elrond. Valandil liked the idea, and Elrond said it had promise, but that the potential risk to Greenwood was...practically incalculable. Minaethiel said that she trusted Thranduil to make the right decision.

Next Thranduil took his idea to the audience he felt had the most to lose...Greenwood's trees. In a long, strange conversation, he shared with the trees his memories of what facing Sauron's armies had been like. Thranduil clearly and bluntly warned them that his plan might make Sauron hurt them, and hurt the elves and animals of Greenwood. But he also shared his memories of the Entwives' butchered nurseries.. the dead trees, and the dead land of Mordor. Thranduil explained to the trees again what a lie was (although they were somewhat familiar with this concept from previous conversations with him), and what Thranduil hoped to gain. A future in which what was left of Sauron futilely wasted his energies in their wood, looking for a ring that was not there. A forest of rings, and no ring truly in the forest...a delay, a stop-gap, a hope that the Enemy would never regain his greatest weapon. It was a gamble...a potentially costly gamble, high-risk and uncertain reward, and Thranduil didn't try to hide any of that from the trees. 

In the end the trees replied, in their breathy, leafy voice that whispered through his mind like the wind through the branches of his tallest friends, "Yeeesss Thrrannnduillll.....wee willlll lieee forr youuu. Wee wiilll saayy thaatt weee haave thee disssgussttinggg shiinnyy cirrclle...nott giivve upp sliimmyyy cirrcllee...neevveerrr." 

Thranduil presented this to his council as more or less a fait accompli. He hadn't meant to, necessarily. But the trees said this was one of the moments when they were going to do what seemed best to them, and they'd already made up their collective leafy minds that they liked his plan. Greenwood's council fortunately didn't realize (most of them) that this was a done thing, and spent several careful weeks debating it before deciding that they would do as the trees wished, and the trees wished to roll their dice as the King wished. Thranduil then directed that certain rumors be spread, all the while hoping that he had not doomed everything he held dear.


	24. The Valar Have Sent a Miao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil receives some surprising intelligence from an unexpected source, and joins a historic conference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Taking place in around Third Age Year 1000. Please forgive any liberties I may have taken with respect to which of the Maiar arrived when and where! Please also forgive any mistakes in grammar and spelling, in particular of Sindarin or Quenya.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: The elven OCs Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife), Queen Felith (Oropher's wife), Fileg, and Nestorion who are mentioned in this chapter belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info

A unilateral summons from the White Lady demanding that the King of the Greenwood come to the Golden Wood never put Thranduil in the best of moods. In fact, that was an understatement.

 

“Lady Galadriel probably didn’t even realize that she was being insulting,” Thranduil’s wife soothed as their grandly large party dismounted by the royal talan in the heart of the Goldenwood.

 

Thranduil regarded his beloved bride incredulously, before hiding a smile at the similarly disbelieving gaze being turned upon Minaethiel by his own mother, Felith.

 

“Cousin Galadriel is rude, not stupid,” drawled Thranduil, bolstered by his mother’s silent support, “How could she not know?”

 

“She’s single-minded,” Minaethiel countered, “And heedless. I’m sure if Celeborn had been here when she was getting ready to send her message, she . . .”

 

“Message, nothing,” Thranduil interrupted, quite piqued, “It was a royal summons . . . a ‘royal summons’ from the sometime-regent of a small woodland realm to the greatest and only remaining true elven Kingdom!”

 

“It was a flagrant breach of protocol, ion-nin, one I’m sure that your cousin Celeborn had something to say about, but do keep your voice down,” urged Felith quietly. 

 

Thranduil gritted his teeth, but he had to admit that his mother had a point. Besides, in a manner of speaking he’d already had his revenge, or rather, he’d brought it along with him. Galadriel’s shockingly blunt communique had demanded that he appear with his most important advisors. In a fit of temper, Thranduil had decided to interpret “most important” very broadly. In fact, he’d assembled what he was sure would be the largest delegation to this council of elven rulers. Galadriel hadn’t specified the reason for the convocation, so Thranduil had decided that lack of information provided the perfect pretext to bring with him a brace of secondary advisors, household officers, and younger royal cousins. 

 

This form of vengeance had several features to recommend itself. First off, Thranduil could claim with a straight face that he was merely doing as Galadriel had asked. Celeborn would probably call him on that, and Thranduil was not particularly looking forward to that discussion, but Celeborn wouldn’t refuse the Goldenwood’s responsibility to feed, house, and entertain Thranduil’s ridiculously grand retinue, which was a revenge in and of itself. 

 

Also, bringing such a large company made the point that it was Thranduil’s elves of the Greenwood who were the most numerous in the Third Age, and that they ought not be taken lightly, or summarily ordered hither or thither. Elrond and Cirdan’s deputy Galador, Thranduil was sure, would take his point. Galador might be offended, but Thranduil thought that he could count on some support from his cousin Elrond, the next youngest of the elven rulers and Galadriel’s sometimes exasperated son-by-law. Oh, Thranduil didn’t think that Elrond would be on his side, but he thought that he might be able to get Elrond to plead his case to Celeborn.

 

But before that would even be necessary, Thranduil would have the fun of getting to watch the other elven rulers and their likely small and select entourages make room at the table for himself, ten of his cousins, a dozen of his advisors and household officers, and their staffs. Thranduil couldn’t hide a smile just thinking of all the chaos their entrance would cause in the midst of Galadriel’s great and mysterious matter. And that was even before some of those elves, such as Thranduil’s opinionated and tactless cousin Condirestor, opened their mouths!

 

Yet, as many elves as Thranduil had brought, and as minor as many of them were in the constellation of Greenwood’s influential and powerful, to a one they all turned up their noses at the short young elf in healer’s robes with a warrior’s sword belted about his sturdy waist who awaited them just inside the entrance to the royal talan.

 

Thranduil himself had to hide another smile. Celeborn had managed to have his adopted sons’ cousin dressed in fine clothes, but even the great and wise Lord of the Golden Wood couldn’t manage to make Ecthelion Eyrnion of the Greenwood, called Theli, behave as if he were a civilized gentle elf, let alone kin after however irregular a fashion to a royal lord. And yet, for whatever reason, Thranduil had an abiding tolerance for Theli that at times bordered on fondness.

 

“Aran-nin,” greeted Theli, with a cheeky, happy smile. He forgot to bow, or even to nod his head in respect. He most often did. Normally he only saw Thranduil in the informal atmosphere of Thranduil’s own household, to which Theli was attached as a junior royal healer.

 

“Ecthelion,” recognized Thranduil, his rare use of the healer’s full name a relatively gentle reminder that they had an audience.

 

Too gentle a reminder, apparently, for Theli didn’t even seem to notice it. 

 

“’Tis good to see you again, Aran-nin. I’m supposed to be elsewhere, but I thought to tell you, one of Galadriel’s old teachers has come here, to help in the fight against Sauron, or something like that.”

 

“A vala has come here, Ecthelion?” inquired dowager Queen Felith. Thranduil’s mother had once been Galadriel’s student, and was well familiar with who it was had once trained her own teacher.

 

Theli wrinkled his nose as he tried to recall what he'd heard, "No, not one of those, a what-do-you-call-them . . . Miao? The ones who work for the Valamar.”

 

Through dint of long practice, Thranduil mentally translated that as "a Maia . . . the ones who work for the Valar." Theli’s artless mistakes added quite a contrast to the importance of the news he had just delivered. News which he was evidently not supposed to have shared with them, based on the glowers Celeborn’s guards were bestowing upon the heedless healer. 

 

Theli, reliably, was oblivious to that. Thranduil’s company was somewhat less so. The King’s Master Healer, Nestorion, stepped between the closest of the Golden Wood soldiers and his erstwhile assistant. While Thranduil pondered the significance of another Maia having come to Middle Earth, he listened with one ear to the Master Healer’s lecture.

 

“A 'miao,' my dear young ignoramus of a healer, is the sound a cat makes. And I don't even know where you came up with 'Valamar.’ What you probably meant to say is that the Valar have sent a Maia."

 

Theli brightened, “Yes, that's it. Maia, Miao, I had all of the sounds in the word right, almost.”

 

“I think perhaps we should excuse you from your duties one day a week, Ecthelion, that you might join the elflings of the Greenwood in their lessons.” 

 

Theli’s nose wrinkled again, this time in distaste. But he didn’t despair at this proposed fate, but instead lightly argued, “That's a really unkind thing to suggest doing to poor Elder Angoliel and her assistants, Master Nestorion. What have they ever done to you?”

 

Thranduil, in part to take the heat of Master Nestorion’s disapproval off of Theli and in part for the reaction value, commented blandly, "I can't wait to meet a real, live Miao."

 

His mother’s lips twitched, a sure sign that she was hiding a smile. Gently and silently, like silver chimes through his mind, Felith warned him, *Behave, ion-nin.*

 

Minaethiel stifled a laugh of her own. Tucking one of her hands into the curve of Thranduil's elbow, Minaethiel whispered, "Time to go and be the Aran and Bereth again, Thranduil Meleth-nin."

 

Lord Fileg, Thranduil’s cousin and one of his bodyguards, jested merrily, though equally quietly, "Oh, I don't know, Mina. Having us call Lady Galadriel's friend the Maia a "Miao" would probably further substantiate our reputation as ‘those primitive Greenwood elves.' And that's always good fun."

 

“Fileg,” scolded Felith, guaranteeing at least the appearance of serene silence from that quarter, at least for a short time. Thranduil had no particular objection; his real display of pique was his grandly sized company. And in fact . . .

 

“Theli, join us.” Thranduil commanded, suppressing another smile at the thought of imposing his irrepressible retainer, who so annoyed Lord Celeborn, on his cousin during this so-important council.

 

Thranduil and his entourage began their stately ascent towards the top of the graceful royal talan. Their rather long ascent, as the audience and council chambers of the beautiful tree-building were located high in the top-most sunlight seeking branches. Several intermediate landings were also used for gatherings, and on one of those waited the twin sons of Elrond.

 

Well-trained to the demands of royal protocol, his two young raven-haired cousins greeted Thranduil with respectful half-bows. From royal lords, arguably princes in their own right, it was an appropriate and sufficient show of respect. 

 

Then Elladan glared at someone at the rear of Thranduil’s retinue. Theli, perhaps? 

 

“Don’t the two of you have someplace more important to be, little cousins?” asked Felith. It was true that Elrond normally insisted that his heir and spare be included in all but the most secretive of meetings between the elven rulers.

 

“We wanted to let you know,” began Elrohir, in a tone of voice that let Thranduil know that it had been Elrond who wanted to give him at least a little advance notice, “And we weren’t sure that Daernana would have mentioned in her message . . .”

 

“Though Theli has likely told you already,” continued Elladan with apparent disapproval.

 

“But in any case, Daernana’s old friend Olorin is here . . .”

 

“But he stopped by the dwarves first.”

 

At that, some of the older warriors and nobles escorting Thranduil, those who had fought the dwarves in Doriath and mostly not been present during the War of the Last Alliance, grumbled discontentedly.

 

Thranduil, on the other hand, was curious. “Really? Why?"

 

Elladan shrugged, causing some of those same venerable elves to wince, "Don't know, he didn't say. I guess if you're a Maiar,"

 

"Maia,” corrected Elrohir in a horrified hiss. In a whisper, he continued, “Honestly, Elladan, your noun and verb forms . . . it’s as if we weren't even in the same classes."

 

Elladan shrugged again, "You knew what I meant. Anyway, if you're a whatever-he-is, then you don't have to explain yourself. They - the dwarves - named him Gandalf, and he likes it, so he's calling himself that. Daernana keeps slipping and calling him Olorin, and Daerada is calling him Mithrandir.”

 

The twins joined Thranduil’s group, together ascending further up the stairs. Rather to Thranduil’s disappointment, Celeborn had apparently anticipated his grand retinue, and appeared in person to greet him.

 

“Cousin,” Celeborn said to Thranduil, his gaze one of mingled disapprobation and amusement, “How very clever of you to have anticipated the trade summit it seemed wise to schedule simultaneously with our more exclusive deliberations. Lord Maerom and Lord Anglad would be pleased to escort the wise advisors you brought to attend to such matters of commerce to the lower chamber where their counterparts have gathered.” 

 

Celeborn had chosen well, Thranduil had to admit. The venerable Lords Maerom and Anglad were well respected amongst the Greenwood elves, and the grace of Celeborn’s invitation and praise of Thranduil’s wisdom would make it seem churlish to refuse the invitation. Nor did Thranduil’s lesser advisors much want to get on Celeborn’s bad side. On top of all of that, the prospect of new and profitable trade agreements had more than engaged their interest.

 

With naught more than an internal sigh, Thranduil nodded regally. Their King’s permission granted, the bulk of Thranduil’s voluminous escort followed the Galadhrim lords back down the elegant mallorn wood stairs.

 

Thranduil and his much reduced escort joined Celeborn and the other elven rulers in the airy chamber at the top of the royal talan. Thranduil was somewhat gratified to see that he still had the largest number of elves present, if only by a small margin.

 

Celeborn made introductions. Thranduil observed the old man who must be the Maia with well-concealed interest. He did not look like much, but there was something about him. And that was even before he gave them greetings from their kin reborn in the West. Only then did the council resume the business for which it had been called.

 

"It is good to see you, Olorin,” Galadriel said in her vibrating golden tones, “But I like not what your arrival portends."

 

Fileg, whom Thranduil liked to jest that he paid to say the obvious things so that Thranduil himself didn't have to, asked, "What's that, cousin Galadriel?"

 

Mithrandir looked kindly upon Fileg.

 

Celeborn said quietly in answer, "The Valar do not generally send out the Maiar unless dragons are about to come out of the mountains, Fileg."

 

Mithrandir coughed, “I am the third to arrive this age, actually. I came after Curumo and Aiwendil, but I hear that Curumo is off on some research of his own, and that Aiwendil is, ah . . .” he trailed off, as if trying and failing to find a way to put what he intended to say in non-offensive terms.

 

Galadriel offered tactfully, "There are many new animals here, whom our dear Aiwendil likely has not met before. I am certain that he will get around to giving us greeting once he has introduced himself to the creatures of Middle Earth. And we did receive a cryptic message from Ingloren of Imladris some weeks ago, saying that ‘he who has no patience for explosions,’ had stopped by whilst Ingloren and Elladan were in the midst of an experiment, and then headed out again, without saying anything meaningful. Ingloren could have been referring to Curumo, he could also have been referring to Elrond, or to Erestor, or to any of a hundred other elves who do not appreciate explosions, so I did not give the message the weight that it perhaps deserved."

 

“Regal looking sort, but a bit snippy?” Elladan inquired, “Uses the word ‘children’ a lot?” 

 

Galadriel and Mithrandir exchanged telling glances. Mithrandir coughed again, “Ah, that does seem a fair description of Curumo, yes.”

 

“He called himself Saruman,” explained Elladan, “and said that he was going to look for the blue Wizards.”

 

Another series of eloquent glances were exchanged, this time between Glorfindel as well as Galadriel and Mithrandir.

 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, but before he could object to this open if unintentional rudeness, Elrond inquired, “You believe that the Blue Wizards they were active before the War of the Last Alliance, working to our benefit amongst the Men of Rhun, Harad and Khand?”

 

“We do believe so, Elrond,” agreed Galadriel, “Elendil’s spies agreed that there were entire provinces of those lands which sent no soldiers to defend the Enemy.”

 

With great distaste, Thranduil himself had to support that, “My father’s spies said much the same.”

 

Much discussion ensued, but little was agreed save that the elven rulers must remain united in the face of the growing threat from Mordor. And that Mithrandir had been sent to Middle Earth to aid them. The Council adjourned, the rulers and their advisors remaining to discuss matters between themselves in the wake of formal deliberations.

 

Elrond turned to his second son, “The next time someone you don't know drops by your laboratory and says that he is going to look for wizards, please do mention it to me, ion-nin.”

 

“Honestly, Ada? Blue Wizards?” protested Elladan, “I didn't know that there were any such things, and so I thought that it must be the name of a new recreational substance. The next time some elf comes up to me in the alchemy labs and says that he is trying to make something that will feel like ‘riding the dragon,’ do you really want me to come and tell you about it?”

 

“We'll discuss this later, Elladan,” said Elrond, with a well-concealed sigh. 

 

Mithrandir himself observed this exchange with twinkling eyes and a smile, “You must lead a fascinating life, Elladan Elrondion.”

 

Elladan preened, "You have no idea."

 

Thranduil considered Mithrandir, and found that he didn’t completely dislike him. Mithrandir treated Galadriel and Glorfindel a bit differently, as old friends, but then they were Mithrandir's old friends. Of the other elves, from the ancient Celeborn to the young Silvan Haldir, and Thranduil's young cousin Condirestor, Mithrandir treated them all with an equal brusque respect leavened with amused affection, and Thranduil found that only mildly annoying. Maybe there was a bit too much condescension mixed in with the amused affection . . . but from the form of an old man, Thranduil expected a little condescension. Thranduil also realized how powerful this Mithrandir was, but he didn’t act that way at all. In fact, he was quite disingenuous about it, which presented a number of interesting possibilities for fun and diversion. 

 

With that in mind, Thranduil pondered idly, “So, Mithrandir, you've met with dwarves, humans and we elves, of course, but I hear that no one has introduced you to the hobbits?”

 

Mithrandir, who had perhaps been warned of the former Prince Thranduil’s past reputation as something of a practical joker, asked gingerly, "The . . . ‘hobbits,’ Aran Thranduil?"

 

Thranduil favored the wizard with a cool but gracious nod, "You may call me Thranduil. And yes, the hobbits...the little halflings with the big, hairy feet who live in the Shire of Eriador.” 

 

His eyes twinkling all the more, Mithrandir asked, “Ah. Are they anything like the big, hairy monster which the elflings of Caras Galadhon tell me lives under the bridge o'er the mill pond?”

 

Thranduil chuckled, "No, they're real. Elrond didn't believe me at first, either."

 

Elrond smiled fondly at Thranduil, "I didn't, but they are in fact real. My apologies, dear cousin, for doubting. Mithrandir, if you would like to meet them, they are a somewhat shy but kind folk, and my sons would be happy to lead you there.”

 

Elrohir and Elladan smiled at the wizard, identically charming and disarming smiles. Mithrandir smiled back, and Thranduil felt a momentary regret that he couldn't be a fly on one of their horses, during the no doubt fascinating trip that followed.


	25. Chapter 1 of Conversation at the End of the Watchful Peace, or “A Departure Deferred”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil needs a listening ear, and Theli just happens to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The elven OCs Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife), Queen Felith (Oropher's wife), Fileg, and Nestorion who are mentioned in this chapter belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> Quote:
> 
> “The most difficult character in comedy is that of the fool, and he must be no simpleton that plays that part.” – Miguel de Cervantes

The Hall of the Elven King in the north of the Great Green Wood was massive. The elves who dwelt there called it merely “the North Hall.” To many an eye, it was beautiful as well. Visitors had described the North Hall as a graceful marriage of the spirit of wood and tree depicted in stone and air.

 

But to Thranduil, the North Hall was a symbol of failure. His failure. His failure to keep his people safe, to keep the south and middle of the Wood free of evil creatures. And, most painful of all, his failure to keep his wife and three oldest blood children alive. Not to mention a friend he loved like a brother, and young elves he loved as dearly as his own nieces and nephews. 

 

It was autumn now, and coming on two years since Thranduil and his people had been forced to abandon the Greenwood’s former capital in Emyn Duir, the dark mountains in the middle of the Greenwood. It had been over an age since they’d been forced to cede their Second Age capital of Amon Lanc. That elegant white stone palace of Thranduil’s happy elflinghood memories, and the town surrounding it, were now fouled and haunted beyond redemption, and called Dol Guldur. Thranduil had personally had to take a hand in further ruining their former home when he led a group of elves and Wizards to flushe Sauron’s spirit from the place, at the beginning of the Watchful Peace.

 

Now that Watchful Peace was over. And the elves of the Greenwood had been forced to once again take refuge in the North Hall. Carved out of a great mountainous cavern set high above the woods, the North Hall was almost impervious to attack by anything smaller than a true army. And even an army would have to get through the woods, and that was no easy thing. From the top level of the North Hall, on a clear day, Thranduil could see as far south and west as the ruins of his old capital of Emyn Duir, and as far north and east as the Gray Mountains.

 

The autumn-gowned trees around the North Hall spoke to Thranduil. As did the forest between the North Hall and the northeastern edge of the Wood. To the south and west . . . some of the trees still spoke to Thranduil. But the tales and songs brought by the whispering winds through the leaves stopped half way between Emyn Duir and the North Hall. Half-way! When this time last year, the friendly leafy voices had stopped only a quarter of the way from Emyn Duir. Thranduil and his people were losing the Wood that fast.

 

Now Thranduil stood before a large window on the very top level of the North Hall, watching the trees to the south and west, and listening to the tales they brought him. Listening, and thinking. About his duty to this Wood, and to the elves who lived there. And his more personal duty to his elfling son, Legolas. And to a lesser extent, his duty to his foster-son, Thalion Aerandirion. But Thalion was an ellon grown, and fully committed to the fight to save the Wood. Legolas was still an elfling, a twenty-one year old elfling, the equivalent of a seven year old human boy. And now Thranduil’s duty as a father was in conflict with his duty as a King.

 

In the past, when Thranduil had faced such disastrous divisions, he’d had his wife and best friend Minaethiel to help him steer a way through them. Now, he did not, and he felt as if he was navigating through a trackless wilderness without compass or map to guide him.

 

He still had friends, kin, and sworn-brothers of his heart. And many of them were not shy in offering him their opinions. And yet . . . none of them were the King of the Wood, or Legolas’ father. And so Thranduil had come here, to the quiet peace of rustling leaves and rushing wind.

 

Here, where the only voices speaking to him were trees, with their lack of concern in elven affairs. Although Thranduil’s leafy friends weren’t entirely neutral in this matter. The trees didn’t want Thranduil to leave them to sail west-over-water, and they didn’t want Legolas to leave them, either. But still, they were willing to let Thranduil make up his own mind, without speaking to him of anything more significant than the approach of winter, or which squirrel was making a home high in which leaves. The cattier willows teased the deciduous trees for losing their leaves, while the pines envied the oaks their chatty squirrel nests, with their live-in furry bug catchers. 

 

Thranduil’s attention turned from the window as he heard the sound of someone approaching on the stairs. He was surprised to have his solitude disturbed this quickly. Those closest to him knew that he only retreated to the highest reaches of the North Hall when he wished to be left alone.

 

And yet the step-pause-step continued up the stairs. As if the elf who was coming to pester him was not quite sound in all his limbs.

 

Thranduil decided to stay quiet. He was mostly hidden where he stood beside the greatest of the windows. Whoever it was who was climbing the stairs now would have to know to turn right into this little-used sitting room rather than left, towards the more popular galleries used for star-gazing and dancing.

 

And yet the step-pause-step continued, all the way into Thranduil’s hiding place. A short elf with unruly waves of light-brown hair only partially confined by braids, dressed in the dark blue robes of a healer, appeared in the doorway. Then he promptly tripped over the edge of the beautiful green and gold carpet. Thranduil winced as the flask of cherry colored liquid in the elf’s hands went flying all over the worn but expensive carpet, itself once a gift from Thranduil’s cousin Lord Celeborn to Thranduil’s father King Oropher, upon Oropher’s first becoming King of the Greenwood.

 

The elven healer, of course, was Theli. His real name was Ecthelion. He had been born the son of Eurig Eldunchil, although since Theli had been disowned for leaving his reclusive Nandorin village, he now used the father-name Erynion. That name meant son of the forest. It meant that Theli was an elf without a father, or mother, or close kin.

 

Although Theli did have younger cousins, the adopted sons – and heirs – of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. And Thranduil had sent Theli to visit them, in the wake of Lord Celeborn insisting that Thranduil should take his people away from Emyn Duir and to the North Hall for their safety, and for Thranduil’s.

 

Theli, and Thranduil’s cousin and sworn-brother Fileg, had supported Lord Celeborn. Vocally, and publicly. Although Thranduil had since had to concede that the argument hadn’t been meant to be public, it had just gotten out of hand.

 

As had Thranduil’s temper. He’d ordered that, since Fileg and Theli agreed with Lord Celeborn rather than their own King, that they should join Celeborn in Lothlorien. Fileg’s family had chosen to go with him. Thranduil had called it an exile, although he’d known even at the time that he was overreacting. So Fileg, and Theli, had been in Lothlorien, patrolling with the Goldenwood’s militia.

 

Their patrol had been ambushed by orcs eager to find the secret ways into the Goldenwood. Lady Galadriel’s son Orophin had gotten a vision of the approaching attack, and had been able to warn the militia patrol almost in time. Then, struck by another vision, Orophin had been helpless to prevent an orc striking him on the head and toppling him from his horse during the attack. Theli had gone to aid his cousin, and the two had been dragged away by the retreating orcs. The beasts had tortured them for several days before the rescue force from the Goldenwood could reach them.

 

Theli had lied to their captors and claimed to be the White Lady’s son, so that the bulk of the orcs’ cruel attentions had been focused on him rather than on his concussed younger cousin Orophin. After they were rescued, it had taken months of the best treatments the healers of Lothlorien could provide before Theli was fit to ride home to the Greenwood.

 

During that time, Theli had apparently made peace with Thranduil’s cousin Celeborn. Or at least so Thranduil judged, from the long list of ‘care and feeding of’ instructions that Thranduil and also Master Nestorion had received from Lord Celeborn, in relation to not only Celeborn’s middle son Orophin, who had come to Greenwood to replace the Goldenwood’s previous officious lout of an ambassador, but also Theli.

 

Thranduil had found the list vaguely irritating on a number of levels. On the one hand, he found himself somewhat envious because cousin Celeborn, whom he loved like an uncle, was extending his paternal affections to yet another elf. That wasn’t particularly kind of him, but Thranduil was honest enough to admit that it played a factor in his annoyance. He was also perturbed because Celeborn was telling him what to do with one of his own elves, when it had been in Celeborn’s service that Theli had been injured in the first place. 

 

And yet Thranduil was most upset because it had been as a result of his impatient, angry order that Theli had been in the Goldenwood, in the first place. And it had only been luck that it had been Theli nearly crippled, and not Fileg, whom Thranduil loved like a brother. There was guilt, there, too. Thranduil was fond of Theli, and didn’t like that part of him was grateful that it had been Theli who’d been captured with Orophin, and not Fileg, or one of Fileg’s sons.

 

But it had been Theli who had been captured and tortured and then pain-stakingly and as of yet imperfectly put back together. And it was he who was currently trying to pick himself up off of the drenched carpet, swearing like a Dol Amroth pirate-turned-sailor all the while.

 

“If you put half as much effort into walking as you do into cursing inventively,” Thranduil drawled as he walked over to give the younger elf a hand to his feet, “Then you would be far less of a hazard to my carpets.”

 

Theli made a face at his King, not at all intimidated by the royal presence. But then, he never had been. Theli followed and served Thranduil not because Thranduil was the Aran, but because he liked and respected Thranduil as an elf. If he hadn't, he would have taken any one of the several offers he'd received from other rulers, and packed up and joined them. The mixed blessing of this more personal loyalty was that when Theli thought Thranduil was being an idiot, he felt no compunction not to say so. And, being Theli, he generally did so in the bluntest way possible.

 

And he did so again. “Well, if you weren’t hiding away up here without having told anyone that you sprained your knee on yesterday’s patrol,” Theli accused cheekily, “then I wouldn’t have had to spill cherry flavored pain killer all over your rug.”

 

“I did not sprain my knee,” Thranduil retorted, incensed, “Merely twisted it. And I would not need you to flavor my medicine the way you do for an elfling, in any case.”

 

Theli made a doubtful noise. Thranduil considered kicking him, but as Theli was still favoring his left leg, decided against it. Instead he snapped, “Sit down, idiot, before you fall down. Are you even supposed to be climbing stairs without a cane yet?”

 

“Probably not,” Theli admitted with a rueful smile, “But I couldn’t very well use a cane and hold the medicine, now could I?”

 

“Putting a stopper in the flask didn’t occur to you?”

 

“No, it needs to breathe. You see . . .”

 

“Please don’t elaborate. Nor do I want to know what was in it. I don’t need a pain-killer, you nuisance of a healer.”

 

“What do you need, then?” Theli asked, still standing awkwardly, with his weight off his left leg.

 

“Sit, you cursed stubborn fool. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.”

 

Theli made another face, but he did sit down. He didn’t say anything else.

 

Enjoying the temporary quiet, Thranduil turned his attention back to the window and the forest. Rather to his own surprise, he found himself confessing, “I am trying to decide whether my duty is to leave the Wood and sail for the West with my elfling son. Or to stay, and in so doing bind us both to our people’s fate.”

 

Thranduil heard Theli take a deep breath behind him, but the healer didn’t speak at first. In the silence, Thranduil marveled that he had even brought up such a personal issue with someone outside his most intimate circle of family and friends. But then, perhaps it did make sense, in a way. Thranduil could ask Theli because it didn't really matter what Theli thought. Thranduil could take his advice if it made sense, and leave it if it didn't, and there wasn't much emotional attachment either way.

 

Theli didn't take offense to being ignored or even berated, or even to having things thrown at him. The only thing that Thranduil had ever done which had hurt Theli's feelings was to exile the young elf for contradicting him in front of other elven rulers. Thranduil had already decided not to do that, again.

 

And if Thranduil had broached this sensitive topic with someone closer to his heart, it could have been more of a problem. His closest friends and family . . . their emotions, their feelings, were so strong that Thranduil did not always feel as if he had room for his own. Sometimes he just shut down. Other times he felt too much, and his decisions then...were not always the best. 

 

At length, Theli spoke, “Can you leave?” he asked, “I mean, is it an option?” 

 

“I am a father. It should be. I should take my son somewhere safe.”

 

All was still again after Thranduil’s answer. Theli was quiet, and even the wind through the trees had ceased. It was as if the whole forest was holding its breath. At length, Thranduil turned to regard Theli, and raised a demanding, inquisitive brow.

 

“Are you asking my opinion?” Theli asked, clearly surprised.

 

Thranduil waited a beat and then smiled sardonically, “Obviously,” he drawled, with the implication being that Theli was a bit slow on the uptake.

 

Theli smiled uncertainly, “And are you going to send me back to Lothlorien if you don't like what I say?”

 

“Are you going to announce that you think I am doing the wrong thing in front of Celeborn and my court, in such a way that it seems as if you think your King to be a fool?” Thranduil asked in reply.

 

“Oh,” said Theli lamely, “I never saw it like that. What I said that day, I mean.”

 

Thranduil laughed, “Imagine that,” he marveled. 

 

“Well, in any case, they're not here,” Theli ventured cautiously, “Lord Celeborn, or your court, I mean.” 

 

“And you don't go telling tales,” Thranduil said with somewhat reluctant fondness, “Not unless it is a....” he paused and with a sneer, elaborated, “a 'healer thing,' as you so eloquently put it.” 

 

“No. I don't,” Theli affirmed. After a pause, he finally answered, “You could leave, with Legolas. Or you could stay. Whichever you do, you will make people angry, disappoint them. Anger and disappoint yourself, too, either way.” 

 

“Could I leave?” Thranduil wondered aloud, although mostly to himself. He thought of the cursed ring, the ring that he had once, in a moment of valiant madness, spread a rumor about. A rumor that it was hidden, somewhere in the Greenwood. A ring in a forest of rings. That lie predated Legolas by over 2,500 years. And there were so many lives in the balance, keeping the lie, protecting the Wood. In the end, it might all be for nothing, but Thranduil would not give it up without a fight. And he didn't know if anyone else would fight as hard, as smart, as fiercely. And it was his fight. He’d started it, curse it all, and he’d finish it.

 

“Would you be asking the question, if you couldn't?” Theli asked quietly.

 

Thranduil brushed one of his warrior’s braids behind an ear, pondering on that question, “I must ask the question, in order to rule it out. To say I considered it,” he said, equally quiet. 

 

Theli sighed, then offered, “You can only do what you can do, Aran-nin. Trying to do more is . . . noble. But trying when you know that you can't . . . if you know that there's still going to be a fight afterwards and the one you can't win may well end you so that you'll be leaving the next fight that you could win for someone else. . . that's not brave so much as foolhardy. I think.” 

 

“You left your people. The Nandor of the Northern Wood,” Thranduil said. It was a statement more than an accusation, but it carried weight all the same. 

 

“I wanted something else,” Theli explained, his dark blue eyes regretful but not apologetic.

 

Thranduil’s lip curled in frustration at Theli’s avoidance of the question, “You knew who you were, there. Who you were being groomed to be. You're not that oblivious.” Theli had never said that he had been being trained to be his grandfather Eldun’s heir. But Thranduil had gathered it, from one or two things Theli had let slip over the years, and from conversations with other disaffiliated far northern Nandor.

 

Theli tilted his head in thought. After a few pensive moments, he answered, "I suppose I did. I . . . never really realized it, before. But I wasn't him, that wasn't me. If I'd stayed there I would have become someone else, and I would never have stopped resenting myself, resenting my grandfather, resenting the elves I was supposed to lead and protect. Even if I'd liked him, how he was and how he led, I couldn't have stayed. It wasn’t me.” 

 

“I do not think that I would be so unfair as to resent my last son, my baby, for inspiring me to make the decision to keep him safe,” Thanduil said, once again speaking more to himself than to Theli. 

 

“Can you help how you feel?” Theli asked, with unaccustomed tact, “You can put things in perspective, and try to think of them differently, but you feel how you feel.”

 

Thranduil sighed, wishing that he could be outside, amongst the trees. But even so close to the North Hall, he would have needed an escort. And this conversation shouldn’t be overheard. Even though his decision was, “I will not leave. Even if I could, I would not.” 

 

Theli was unable to completely hide a sigh of relief at that. Nor were the trees, for just then the breeze started up again.

 

“So much for a set of impartial ears,” Thranduil scolded his audience, both the elven and the woodland. 

 

“I did my best. I thought it was fine enough!” Theli protested, his words accompanied by a vulgar mannish shrug. 

 

“Barely,” Thranduil teased, although someone who didn’t know him well would have taken the word as a scold. 

 

Theli grinned back at him unrepentantly, “Barely is fine enough,” the younger elf retorted cheekily. 

 

“With that attitude, it is no wonder that you are the despair of both stillroom and training yard,” Thranduil jested back acerbically. 

 

Theli gave him another cheerful grin.

 

More seriously, Thranduil confided, “Many will say that I should send Legolas oversea, even if I do not go myself. For his safety.” 

 

“But is that the best thing for Legolas?” Theli asked, tilting his head in thought again.

 

“You were there when he was born, when I was off fighting the rumors of dark creatures returning to the south,” Thranduil reminded Theli, “You looked into his eyes, and saw the sails. Part of him is already in the West. It would be safer there, for him.” 

 

“I saw his eyes, then,” Theli conceded, before going on the offensive, “But I see his eyes now, too. They light up for our trees, and for you, and for his family and his friends, here.” 

 

“He is young. He would adjust. I did, when my family moved here from Lindon.” 

 

“But who does he even know in the West?” Theli protested, “A few minor functionaries and distant cousins?” 

 

Thranduil lifted a brow at that, then recounted sardonically, “His grandmother, a full complement of great-grandparents, a brace of great aunts and uncles, a slew of cousins...”

 

“Yes, yes,” Theli said, waving a dismissive hand, “but he doesn't know them, and they don't know him. Besides, who would you send with him? Anyone who could not withstand a second siege has already left. Those who remain intend to do their part. Anyone would go if you asked, for Legolas. But whom can you spare? Whom don't you need, being honest with yourself? Whom don't you need, who would also be enough support for Legolas?” 

 

“I think that I could do without anyone, if it meant that Legolas would be safe and happy.” 

 

Theli shook his head skeptically, “He's a quiet elfling, Thranduil.”

 

“Not that quiet,” Thranduil pointed out wryly, thinking of any number of bits of mischief, culminating perhaps in Legolas having been more or less an unwitting accomplice in the plots of the Elrondionnath, which had sent them fleeing Emyn Duir for the North Hall a whole year before Thranduil was willing to concede defeat. 

 

Theli’s mouth flickered into a smile, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, “Well, he is a self-contained child. All that has happened, has only made him more so. And he is...his roots are here.” 

 

“He is young.” 

 

“But he already hears the trees, speaks to them.” 

 

“So?” asked Thranduil harshly. Thandrin and Eryntheliel had heard them even earlier. It hadn’t saved them. 

 

“The trees speak to him of meaningful things, Thranduil,” Theli persisted where other elves would have just stopped talking, “Where to find baby spiders, and how to walk the dangerous paths and live. They speak to him of the darkness. What he knows he cannot unknow. He would be alone in the sunny West, alone with the memories of monsters in his head." 

 

Thranduil considered that, thinking, among other things, that he needed to talk to the trees, and to his son. 

 

Theli took the King’s silence as permission to continue, “Legolas was born with sails in his eyes, yes. But those eyes now, they glow like the clear pools that shine in the dark, lit by phosphorescent stones, when he speaks of learning all he can to stay here, to be part of this fight. He is...." Theli took a deep breath, and pursed his lips, before pointing out, "You could die, you know." 

 

Thranduil sighed at the non sequitur, “Obviously,” he scoffed. 

 

“If you died, or if you sailed, we'd lose our greatest advantage in this fight.” 

 

Thranduil frowned, “My elfling son will not replace an age worth of experience leading the war against the Enemy, Ecthelion.” 

 

“No. But he feels the forest like you do, as far south as Emyn Duir, Thranduil. Still, he hears those trees, even though we've been in the North Hall for several years now.” 

 

Thranduil paused in thought again. That had been one of their big advantages, in the fight to keep the Wood, that he could hear the trees from border to border. His heart contorted, because he would keep Legolas here, for that. That was how badly he wanted to win, that he wanted them all to survive, that he would burn his child on the altar of that cause. He spared a moment to pray that his wife would forgive him.

 

Theli, who could occasionally be quite perceptive, must have read some of that, either on Thranduil’s face or in his eyes, because the younger elf said kindly, “You can think of it that way. And some would blame you. There is no decision you can make that won't make you angry, and sad. But I think that sending Legolas away would be the wrong decision for him. You can't replant just any sapling, even if the soil you're taking it from is rocky and thin and the place you're taking it too is rich and green.” 

 

“Please don't speak in metaphors,” Thranduil ordered in exasperation, “You're not wise enough for that.” 

 

Theli persisted, clearly a little bit hurt by Thranduil’s disapproval but not seriously so, “No, I'm going to keep going with that example, because I think it's good.” 

 

“No,” said Thranduil firmly. 

 

Theli sulked for a moment, then gave in with a sigh. "He could fade, I think," the frustrating young elf finally explained himself. 

 

Thranduil snorted in disbelief, “Not once he met my mother.” 

 

“Whom he does not know,” Theli reminded Thranduil, “And that's assuming he got that far. Your Legolas, well, he's never been that firmly rooted to this time and place. Digging him up, weakening those roots - he may not transplant well.” 

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes in disgusted disbelief, “So, you are not only going to go back to your stupid tree metaphor, you are also serving as Galadriel's mouthpiece here . . .” 

 

“No,” Theli disagreed, “Well, she said that, but I'm talking about the elfling I know. The one I've read ‘Little Elfling Makes a New Friend,’ and ‘The Tender-Toed Cat of the Tall Timbers’ and ‘Little Archer’s Adventure’ to every night this week. The one who patiently watches his elder foster-brother fletch, when other elflings, the few who remain, are playing in the great hall. The one who looks forward to the time he spends with you, the one who is still comfortable with you, the one who makes a disbelieving face when other elves say that the King is hard and cold, even though," Theli gave Thranduil a fond smile, "Legolas is getting better at hiding his disbelief. Thankfully for your reputation, your Grace." 

 

Thranduil reached over to flick Theli’s ear for the lese majeste, all the while thinking that over.

 

“Also . . .” Theli began, only to trail off uncertainly.

 

“Also what, Ecthelion,” Thranduil asked with a sigh. When Theli still remained silent, the King tensed, realizing by the look on Theli’s face that whatever this thought was, he wouldn’t like it. 

 

"Also what, Theli -mellon-nin?" Thranduil prompted more gently. 

 

"Also..." The haunted look in Theli’s dark blue eyes said without words ‘I might be wrong - I'd like to be wrong - I hope to be wrong - don't be angry with me for even speaking this aloud.’ 

 

“Spit it out, mellon-nin,” Thranduil said, this time an order. He would have liked to promise that he wouldn't hold it against Theli, or be angry with him. But if whatever this was made Theli worried, Thranduil was afraid that he couldn’t make that promise. 

 

Theli accepted that order, and bravely ventured, "Also, would Legolas be safe, in the West?" 

 

Thranduil laughed harshly, “As compared to here? Where orcs and spiders lurk, and the very trees are turning against us again?”

 

“There is no such thing as complete safety,” Theli argued, “I grant you, this time, it is not ideal. But at least we know what the dangers are. We are accustomed to danger, as prepared for it as we can be. And the elves who are still here . . . we know them. We know how they act. We know, when something starts to go wrong with them. When they get too close to the edge. We know what to do, how to deal with that. Here, we don't take anything for granted.” 

 

“Are you approaching a point?” Thranduil asked in a biting tone, “I do have other things to do today.”

 

Theli could have protested that it was Thranduil who had asked for his opinion, but he didn’t even seem to think of that. Instead he just said, “I'm getting to it. It's just, it's a really...odd point.” 

 

“You're a really odd elf. Spit it out, already.” 

 

Theli gave him a quick smile, “I am, at that. Well, I think that Legolas might be in danger in the West, too.” 

 

“You do remember my mother, don't you?,” Thranduil asked disbelievingly, “The way that you are speaking, it truly seems as if you do not.” 

 

“But would she be with him, every moment of every day?,” Theli pressed, “Does she know everyone who is around her, and all of their kin and people just recently sailed?” 

 

“No. But she would be more alert than most, to any of that.” 

 

Theli opened his mouth to speak again, but Thranduil raised a hand to stop him, because Theli’s poorly articulated ideas had started a chain of thoughts in his own mind. 

 

“We are still missing elves, from the south, and near Emyn Duir. And some between there, and here,” Thranduil mused worriedly. 

 

“Some of their settlements were burned out,” Theli recollected, “And we can hope that they sailed first, or died cleanly, but....”

 

“But the enemy is not above taking captives. Still, it is a one way trip to the west Theli. Once they sail, whatever they may have promised the Enemy in exchange for their freedom or their loved ones’ lives, they are beyond his reach, at least for now. Even you should know that.” 

 

Theli shook his head stubbornly, “The Enemy is very persuasive. And he's not planning to stop with Middle Earth, if he wins. That's part of why you're not leaving, part of why Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn and Elrond are still here, too.” 

 

Thranduil didn’t bother to correct that impression. He was still fighting because he was just too bloody stubborn, and because he loved this place too much to let it go. But Galadriel and Elrond might be that arrogant, to stay because they believed that the Valar hadn't fully taken into account the threat. And even Thranduil cared about the West, because people he loved lived there. But he didn't say any of that aloud. Instead, he thought about those possible former captives in the West. Damaged by the Enemy, might they believe that doing their hateful new master a service could somehow benefit them, even in the West? 

 

Into the silence, Theli spoke up again, “If the Valar cheated to give Legolas to you and Minaethiel, in this time and place . . . then taking him off the board would be a coup, for the Enemy. Even in his long-game, even if Middle Earth is just a stop-gap.” 

 

“And it would mean giving up an advantage, for us,” Thranduil said, still thinking. After a moment, he added, “I still believe that my mother could protect Legolas, she and the other kin who have sailed before us. They are a rather formidable group.” 

 

“It only takes one mind-sick elf, Aran-nin,” Theli reminded him, “I think - from what Elladan has said of what Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir and Ingloren and Elrond have said - that the Maiar or the Valar or those who serve as their attendants would normally catch that sort of illness, in an elf recently sailed. But with so many having left for the West, and so many bearing scars and having pain needing healing...”

 

“An elf with foul purpose could be missed,” Thranduil concluded, taking Theli’s point. 

 

Theli nodded, “The pain of the mindsick might be lost in the pain of so many. I don't know about the Valar's role in this, but the Maiar don't seem to be infallible. For instance, Mithrandir still isn't sure that you blame him for . . . what happened.” Theli was referring to the death of Thranduil’s wife and children and their entire escort. And to the message Thranduil’s wife had left in her own blood on her dress, while tied up in the spider’s cocoon, waiting to be eaten. She had used the last of her energy to draw the symbol the two of them had once used to make fun of the wizards when they passed notes back and forth to one another during meetings of the White Council. 

 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, “What did Mithrandir say, and to whom?” he asked sharply. 

 

Theli blinked, rather taken aback. But then he rallied and reported, “That you seemed to blame them, him and Saruman, but not Radagast, for it. But he wasn't sure, and if you do, he doesn't know why you would.” 

 

Thranduil just looked at Theli. 

 

“Oh!” said Theli, realizing he hadn’t answered the whole question, “He said so to Lady Galadriel, said Orophin to me.” 

 

“And you said?” Thranduil prompted impatiently.

 

“That you've never trusted them - the miaower - because they don’t tell the whole truth about why they're here, and they don't give straight answers, and that you don't like them because they're condescending, and that you don't trust them because you don't like them, and you don't like them because they didn't come to the Greenwood during the siege until they needed something, and even then....”

 

Thranduil held up his hand. "Enough. Good." 

 

“I don't think Mithrandir would arrange a whole-sale slaughter,” Theli said stubbornly. 

 

Thranduil didn't really think so either, but someone had. And if it was Saruman rather than Mithrandir, Mithrandir was still culpable in Thranduil's eyes - he should have stopped his fellow, or warned him. Severely, Thranduil said, "We don't know what they would or wouldn't do, Theli. They are not elves. Or even men, or dwarves. They are not bound by the same rules, and they do not play by them." 

 

“I think Mithrandir tries,” said Theli, in the tone of one who was trying to be fair to a friend. 

 

“Badly,” Thranduil sneered. 

 

Theli shrugged again, making Thranduil wince, and then said, “I try badly at a lot of things.” 

 

Thranduil snorted in agreement. Then, deciding both that Theli had rested long enough, and that he’d thought of yet another way to make use of him, directed, “Speaking of . . . perhaps you should set to work cleaning that spilled cherry mess off of that valuable carpet, eh, my Lord Ecthelion? It was, after all, a gift from Lothlorien to Greenwood, from my cousin Celeborn.” 

 

With a sigh, Theli took off the dark blue healer’s robe he wore over his patched green tunic and leggings, and then threw it over the mess, likely in hopes of soaking some of it up. Then he gave Thranduil a rueful, appealing smile, and asked, “Really, please, Thranduil, Aran-nin, DON’T send me back to Lothlorien right now. Even if you don't tell Lord Celeborn that I ruined another one of his carpets, somehow he'll know, and he'll be giving me THAT LOOK again, and he'd only just stopped doing that, at least most of the time.” 

 

Thranduil couldn’t help but soften a bit at that, despite further evidence of his younger friend’s inattention, “I'm not going to send you to Lothlorien, Theli,” he promised brusquely, “Although perhaps I should, because you don't pay attention when your King speaks to you.” 

 

Theli tilted his head quizzically, clearly going back over their conversation in his head, and still not catching Thranduil’s meaning.

 

With a sigh for needing to repeat himself, and a smirk for the shock he was going to give his inattentive young friend, Thranduil explained to Theli, “I'm going to ennoble you. Make you a lord of the great Green Wood, and an advisor on my council.”

 

Theli blinked at him owlishly, his cobalt blue eyes flying open wide in surprise. “Make me a lord? For . . . for ruining a carpet?” 

 

“No, idiot, for a variety of reasons,” Thranduil said with exasperated affection, “Although perhaps a little bit for ruining carpets. Not just that carpet, but the first one you ruined, in my office at Amon Lanc. The one that is now in my study, and is still green around the edges. And the carpet you ruined when the wolverine bit Lithidrhen, when you tripped and knocked over a tea service and an inkpot to stop his bleeding. And . . . for a number of other ruined carpets.” 

 

Theli just stared at Thranduil, his expressive face revealing shock, pride, affection, fear, and then, finally, acceptance. Thranduil was glad that Theli was frightened, or more properly, relieved. It meant that Theli understood what he was getting into – or rather, what Thranduil was pushing him into. Theli should be frightened. In the parlance of the healer’s Dol Amroth friends, the ship was sinking and he'd just been made an officer.

 

And Thranduil was even more glad to see the acceptance. If Theli had asked Thranduil not to ennoble him, if he'd asked and meant it, Thranduil would still have refused to take the elevation back. But it would have hurt Thranduil, to have Theli ask. And Theli didn't ask, he barely even showed that he wanted to ask. He just accepted, and moved on with his life, a joke on his lips. 

 

“I'm going to try very badly at being a lord, you know,” Theli teased, his midnight blue eyes laughing. 

 

“At least until my other advisors straighten you out, probably yes,” Thranduil agreed magnanimously, rather looking forward a bit to seeing those confrontations, “After that you'll still be doing a bad job, but you'll be trying very hard not to.” 

 

“Why?” Theli asked again, his vivid eyes betraying his burning curiosity, “Besides the carpets, I mean.” 

 

Silent now, Thranduil considered his answer. In truth, there were several reasons. Most important, for Legolas, because if Legolas did need to sail, if Thranduil changed his mind and sent his son home, or if Thranduil died and his cousin and heir-at-law until Legolas came of age chose to send Legolas west for safety, then Thranduil would amend his will to designate Theli as one of Legolas' guardians, should that come to pass. Being a lord would give Theli the status for that appointment as Legolas' healer and companion. Because Theli knew Legolas, and would provide some of the soil he'd taken root in, just by sailing with him. Because Theli knew that there were dangers everywhere, and would be on guard against them in only the way that someone who had seen the snakes in the peaceful grass all the way from the dark forest could be. 

 

And because Theli was Nandorin, and was the grandson, and had been the unofficial heir presumptive, of the Witch of the Northern Woods. The latter was not generally known, but it was known, amongst some of the other lords and powerful of Greenwood who had once been Nandor, or had had dealings with the Nandor. Thranduil was going to need the Nandor as he'd never needed them before, and making Theli a lord signified that Thranduil knew that, and that he meant to take their concerns seriously. Seriously enough to ennoble the free-spirited but loyal and hard-working grandson who had been disowned by the feared Witch. Thranduil would stand for the Nandor, and fight for them, but he wouldn't bow to them. It was a good message, to send. 

 

And it was sound politics, or at least a clever way to set the cat among the pigeons so that they’d give up on squawking at Thrandui for awhile. Many nobles and powerful merchant families had been displaced in their recent, unplanned flight from Emyn Duir to the North. What lands the elves of the Greenwood had reclaimed were being overtaken again by the Enemy. Now was a time when there would be much fighting over the scraps of the Wood which were left to them. And now, instead of focusing just on that, Thranduil's court could be vexed and offended that a mere healer and sometimes-soldier, one who spent more time on report than off it, had been ennobled and raised to Thranduil's council above them. Those who had little power would know that the King had not stopped looking for talent and loyalty to reward, even though his bounty was much smaller. It would be a good distraction, while more patient political minds than Thranduil's figured out how to do the best job of making all of them happy enough to continue to be cooperative and loyal. 

 

In the end, Thranduil simply answered, "Because the next time you call me an idiot in front of three foreign rulers and half of the Wood, we can at least say that you were doing your job as a Lord and Advisor."

 

“I'm really not planning to do that again,” Theli assured his King, with complete and innocent sincerity.

 

Thranduil couldn’t hold back a huff of a laugh and a derisive smile. 

 

Theli sniffed and lifted his chin stubbornly, as if he were offended. It amused Thranduil that Theli apparently thought that his King should have faith in Theli not to embarrass Thranduil and cause an international incident again.

 

“I'm going to go get cleaning supplies,” Theli informed him, still with that stubborn tilt to his chin which just radiated insult. 

 

“Good luck,” Thranduil wished him with a smirk. Well Thranduil knew that the housekeeper and her staff would not be pleased! They were not afraid to give the King himself a tongue-lashing, let alone a junior royal healer. And they, too, remembered the many carpets Theli had ruined over the years, and not so fondly as Thranduil did!

 

Theli made a face, then asked hopefully, “If the house keeper twists my ear, can I tell her that I’m to be a Lord now, to make her let go?”

 

“Certainly,” Thranduil told him, not bothering to hide another smug smile, “And if you do try that, please do it while I'm around, so that I can enjoy the show.” 

 

After that, Theli went off, muttering to himself. Thranduil couldn’t hear all of it, but he made out something about, ‘oh, such an ‘honor.' Just like a promotion - more work, more rules, and I'd give the extra pay back to avoid it...’

 

With a smile, the King noted that Theli’s limp was better, for having had the rest. But still, he shouldn’t be sending the younger elf off down several flights of stairs on his own, without a cane. It would take a bit of time for Theli to get that far, at his still slow pace. So Thranduil turned to the open window again, and listened to the rain and the trees. He felt better than he had before, and so did the trees. They were relieved that he knew that he would not leave them. Relieved that Legolas would not leave. And amused by Theli, as Thranduil was often unaccountably amused. The trees liked Theli. So did Thranduil, although he generally tried to hide it. He knew it, and Theli knew it, and Thranduil's children knew it, and mostly it wasn't important that anyone else know.


	26. Conversations at the End of the Watchful Peace, Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theli isn’t the only visitor to Thranduil’s hiding place at the very top of the North Hall, where the soaring cavern cliff meets open air and forest vistas. The elven king and his dearest friend are three where once they were five; and the empty places still ache when the wind blows ‘round them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The elven OCs Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife), Linwe, Fileg, and Nestorion who are mentioned in this chapter belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info

Well before the time Thranduil had estimated that it would take his limping friend to reach the stairwell down into the more frequented floors of the North Hall, the King’s survey of the rain-blown tree tops and their susurrated voices was interrupted by the sound of footsteps that Thranduil knew nearly as well as he knew his own children’s. An exchange of voices followed – Linwe’s, interrogative with an undertone of imperative; Theli’s, cheerful with a hint of exasperation; and finally Fileg’s, amused, and then offering what sounded, even from too far away to properly make out the words, like something of a compromise.

Then there was a taken-aback exclamation from Theli, followed by the sound of footsteps resuming. The same familiar strides, but now Linwe’s footsteps were heavier, as if he were carrying something. Someone?

Thranduil turned away from the window, his curiosity now piqued. Theli was Thranduil’s sometimes-friend. That friendship was a legacy of the peculiar fellowships brought about by war, which had by some strange alchemy of circumstances survived unto the present day. Fileg liked Theli, which was not much of a surprise because Fileg liked most people. But Linwe tolerated Theli only because he was one of the Greenwood’s best battlefield healers, and had little use for him otherwise.

So it was somewhat surprising to see Linwe hauling Theli back into the little-used sitting room that Thranduil had laid claim to for his ruminations this afternoon. Linwe dropped Theli carefully back onto the settee he had occupied during his discussion with Thranduil, then fixed Thranduil with an intent, disapproving jade-eyed stare.

“What did I do?” the King asked irritably. Something about a disapproving stare from Linwe rarely failed to bring out his inner adolescent.

“How should we know, gwador?” Fileg answered in a good-humored tone, even though Thranduil’s question had clearly been directed at Linwe.

“He,” explained Linwe, nodding toward Theli with scant favor, “Declined to explain to us what he was doing here.”

Theli rolled his eyes and crossed his arms stubbornly, clearly unwilling to satisfy Linwe’s curiosity.

Thranduil chuckled wryly at the tableau. The reasons for Theli to be here were indeed few, and mostly limited to the realm of Thranduil having hurt himself and not having told anyone about it (which was, in fact, the case), or perhaps having ingested some kind of energy-enhancing substance to excess, and again, keeping it to himself. No, Linwe would not like Theli refusing to supply an answer to that question. 

Thranduil himself was pleased, although he did not know how long his luck would last. Still, it was well worth enjoying as long as it did, so he smirked at Theli, and asked, “So, who taught you discretion?” 

Theli made another disgusted face. Thranduil rather liked him for it. Few elves were willing to answer their monarch in such an insouciant fashion. Linwe and Fileg and Thranduil’s remaining family being an exception, of course.

Fileg sat down on the other end of the settee and lightly kicked Theli’s good foot, “Our friend the healer has recently enjoyed an extended stint as a patient himself,” Thranduil’s cousin and sworn brother reported, “It seems to have dimmed his enthusiasm for snitching on the hidden weaknesses of others.”

That got a weak smile from Theli, although he denied Fileg’s more cleverly worded request for information with a shake of his head, and a nettled answer of, “I’m not answerable to either of you. If Thranduil wants to talk about why I was here, that’s his business.”

“So you’ve decided that I was correct, then?” Thranduil asked, pleased with himself. He’d thought that his knee was just twisted.

Theli nodded with a half-smile, thought for a moment, then added, “And if you don’t know what to do to take care of the situation, then nobody does.”

It was a rather clever way of saying that Thranduil was a trouble-magnet who should know very well how to take it easy on a twisted joint. It was also a veiled threat to snitch if Theli did see Thranduil doing anything too strenuous later in the day, but for the nonce, it allowed Thranduil to retain his privacy on the matter, if he chose.

It left him a choice; and few elves understood how precious that was to someone whose life was so very circumscribed by duty. Thranduil was not allowed to be injured or weakened and have no one know about it; on his shoulders rested the safety of them all. And besides that, he was fortunate enough to be well-loved by his friends and remaining family. But sometimes the two circumstances could be difficult to tell apart, the one from the other. 

Having the rare luxury of choice gave Thranduil the patience to explain, “I twisted my knee during this morning’s patrol.” Thranduil, the bulk of the North Hall garrison, and Thranduil’s guards, had spent the morning clearing out a spider infestation to the south, along the Enchanted River. Linwe had more recently arrived with his company, which had been on a longer patrol, further to the south.

Fileg tilted his head, considering that.

Linwe asked critically, “Did it happen when you dismounted from Daeroch at a gallop to behead a giant spider which was only trying to escape?”

“It was pregnant,” seethed Thranduil, who had developed an especial hatred of the cursed arachnids since they had been used to do away with the evidence of his wife’s and his children’s murders.

“It wasn’t worth dying over,” Linwe corrected, his eyes glittering with anger, frustration, and behind all that, love.

“Aren’t you well-informed?” Thranduil asked his slightly older sworn-brother, switching tactics.

“Someone has to be,” Linwe said, with a reproving glance for the still unrepentant Thranduil, and then, for good measure, another glare for Theli.

“Since I’m still here,” said Theli, leaning forward, “Why don’t I take a look? I am sure that it’s just twisted from the way that you were standing. But I brought some salve that will stimulate healing, get you back to full fitness quicker.”

Thranduil silently weighed the merits of that, versus his general dislike of being fussed over.

“Thranduil,” Linwe interrupted, “It’s him, here and now. Or it’s us going to see Nestorion, directly.”

Given that set of options, Thranduil gave Theli and his offer a reluctant nod. Theli was less inclined to scold than Nestorion. And not to mention, his authority could be flouted far more lightly, should Thranduil choose to do so at some point in the future. 

Theli hesitated long enough to give Linwe a bemused look, before turning his attention to Thranduil’s knee. Thranduil sat down on the old armchair facing the settee.

“I’ve got it, Theli,” Fileg offered, before Theli could get up to maneuver Thranduil’s boot off of his foot without jarring his knee. A task which, Thranduil realized, would have been difficult, given Theli’s own still-healing injuries.

“Thank you, Fileg,” said Theli, with an apologetic smile, likely for his earlier rudeness.

Fileg managed to take off the boot, and then to untuck Thranduil’s stocking from his leggings, without causing Thranduil any pain at all. Then Thranduil waved him away, choosing to push up his own leggings gingerly over the just slightly swollen flesh of his knee by himself.

Theli pushed himself off the settee, then moved to sit gracelessly by Thranduil’s injured knee, with one leg held out straight ahead of him. 

The healer clapped his hands together smartly several times, then rubbed them vigorously. Only then did he place his now warm fingers against Thranduil’s knee.

“Just overstretched the muscle a little,” the younger elf murmured, his eyes and mind intent on the joint in front of him rather than on the other elves in the room, including his patient, “Just here.”

“I know that,” Thranduil objected, mildly vexed.

“Hmm,” said Theli neutrally, habitually unperturbed by his King’s show of temper. Then he took a pot of whitish-blue ointment out of his tunic pocket .

“It will be hot, then cold, as I know you know,” Theli explained, “But it will be hot a little longer than usual.”

“What have you done to it?” Thranduil asked, mildly curious despite himself.

“Added a touch of Mallorn tree sap,” Theli related, “The healers in Lothlorien use it in almost everything. As much as they use makes the salve stickier than is ideal without adding much, I think, but just a touch of it helps to reach down to the muscle and start the healing quicker.”

Thranduil nodded, and just barely avoided a hiss as the ointment did, indeed, prove to be hotter than usual. But the pain and the discomfort passed quickly. The medicated salve was doing its job, and Theli had good hands, even for a healer. He wasn’t on Lord Elrond’s level or even Master Nestorion’s, but he knew how to give a massage that stimulated all of the right muscles to aid in the healing process.

“There,” said Theli, after a final examination of Thranduil’s knee, “Best to let the salve set in for another few minutes,” he recommended, “That way it’s less likely to stain your clothes.”

“Speaking of stains,” began Fileg, as he pointed to the cherry-red splotches on the carpet half-covered by Theli’s blue healer’s robe with a barely-hidden smile, “Please tell me that you didn’t throw that medicine at Theli, Thranduil.”

“He hasn’t done that in years!,” protested Theli, who apparently thought he was helping.

“Good for you, gwador,” praised Fileg, with his eyes still smiling, the impudent brat! Then Fileg went on to observe, “Isn’t that the cherry-flavored pain-killer that you used to give to Brasseniel and Cenedru when they were still elflings, Theli?”

“It’s not JUST for elflings,” Theli pointed out, doing a fairly bad job of lying about that.

“Should Thranduil have something for the pain?” Linwe asked.

Theli ignored Linwe, somewhat fool-hardy fellow that he was, and addressed his answer to Thranduil instead, “If you’ll drink it, I think that some willow-bark tea should be enough to dull the pain. Based on how you’re moving and the look of your knee, that is.”

“He’ll drink it,” said Linwe.

Theli’s eyes didn’t waver from Thranduil’s face.

“What he said,” Thranduil conceded after a moment, with a smug nod towards Linwe, who rolled his eyes.

“Well enough, then,” said Theli. Instead of hopping up to his feet like he normally would after tending to Thranduil’s knee – something that had happened more times in the past than Thranduil really liked to count – Theli looked around, then leaned backwards and scooted towards the settee. He placed one hand on the cushions, and used that to begin levering himself to his feet, in such a way as to leave as much of his weight as possible off of his left leg.

Fileg came to his rescue again, placing an arm under Theli’s shoulder and helping the shorter elf to his feet.

“Thanks,” said Theli, with his normal ebullient grin. Turning his attention back to Thranduil, Theli promised, “I’ll have whoever’s on duty in the kitchens send up the tea. You’ll still be here?”

“Wait,” Thranduil commanded, regarding Theli more intently than he usually did, “Sit down, Theli. Your turn,” he said, with a gesture towards his knee, and then towards Theli’s swollen left knee.

Theli tilted his head pensively, and considered his King for a few moments.

“No,” he decided at length, “You’re not my healer. You don’t need to see.”

“I’m your friend,” Thranduil countered levelly.

“And I’m yours,” Theli said with a faint smile that was half-apology, half-affection, and no movement whatsoever towards obeying his King’s instruction.

Thranduil considered simply ordering the younger elf to do as he was told, but that wouldn’t necessarily work. Not with any of his real friends, this one included. Thranduil was morbidly curious to see what Theli’s knee looked like, well over a year since a pack of orcs had done their worst to make sure that their aggravating elven captive never walked again. And more, he felt a responsibility to force himself to face what still-lingering harm his own stubborn order of exile had inadvertently led his healer into.

Linwe and Fileg were quiet, but Thranduil could practically feel the weight of the glances passing back and forth between his two sworn-brothers. That they would assure him that Theli’s injuries were no fault of his, the King had no doubt. But that didn’t change Thranduil’s sense of responsibility for his healer’s injuries.

“I have a right to my privacy, too,” Theli said quietly, “I’ve gotten peered at and poked at and prodded at by every healer in Lothlorien and now the Greenwood. And I’m probably going to get poked and prodded at again today.”

“Almost assuredly,” agreed Fileg brightly, “Master Nestorion was looking for you, when we ran into him on our way here. Something about only working half-days, wasn’t it, Lin?”

“Something like that,” Linwe agreed, now hiding a smile of his own.

Thranduil felt a little badly about that, since Theli had only limped all the way up here to save his King the spectacle of being sought out and lectured by someone else. He could have easily just told Master Nestorion, or one of the other royal healers, that Thranduil had gotten injured again, and spared himself a painful walk up a very long and narrow set of stairs. 

Thranduil decided that he felt badly enough about that to let the matter go. Part of him felt guilty for not taking this opportunity to see for himself what were arguably the consequences of his sending Theli – and Fileg – away in a fit of temper. And another part of him was glad to be spared the sight. Thranduil was no stranger to injuries, even serious ones. He was no stranger to the aftermath of torture by the Enemy’s servants. But it was always hard, to see those type of injuries on the body of a friend. Especially one whom Thranduil had himself sent into danger, although that was, as everyone present except for Thranduil would undoubtedly point out, not exactly what had happened.

“Very well,” Thranduil said, nodding towards the door, “Away with you then, my Lord Ecthelion. Do give Master Nestorion my regards.” In other words, if Theli mentioned Thranduil’s knee to the Master Healer who loved Thranduil almost as if the King were his own child, then Thranduil would make Theli regret it.

Theli rolled his eyes again, saying without words that if he was going to snitch to Master Nestorion about Thranduil’s injury, he’d already had no end of opportunities to do so. 

Thranduil had to hide a smile at that. Fileg chuckled, and Linwe gave the healer an unimpressed look. Then Thranduil’s flame-haired friend sighed, and walked over to the much shorter healer.

“You shouldn’t walk back down the stairs, especially without the cane you left at the landing,” Linwe told Theli, “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Thank you,” said Theli, appearing bemused and a little incredulous, and then taking a cautious step backwards.

Thranduil could understand why. In addition to his duties as a healer, Theli had sometimes been a soldier in Thranduil’s army. For some of that time, he’d been a soldier in Linwe’s unit, and not always a particularly obedient or attentive one. From having had Theli under his ultimate command in only two situations, Thranduil had to concede that the younger elf made a far better healer than a soldier. So Thranduil couldn’t blame Linwe, who’d had to deal with Theli the less-than-optimal soldier, for being less than enamored with him. 

Whether Linwe’s offer was in part to thank Theli for having rather adroitly avoided letting Thranduil add a picture to the blame he already bore for the younger elf’s getting hurt in Lothlorien, or for having traipsed all the way up to Thranduil’s thinking-place on his own to tend to an injury that only Theli had noticed, Thranduil didn’t know. It might even just be Linwe’s sense of responsibility to a soldier who had been, after however irregular of a fashion, his own for many years.

“Thank you,” Theli repeated, and then babbled, “But I’d really rather walk, I need the exercise you know.”

Theli was now attempting to step-hop behind Fileg, who unhelpfully moved out of the way. Thranduil sat back in his chair, rather enjoying the spectacle of Linwe chasing someone who wasn’t Thranduil.

Linwe reached out a hand and laid it on Theli’s shoulder, squeezing gently, “Don’t be ridiculous,” he lectured with more than patience than he usually had for most elves, let alone one who often annoyed him, “I can tell that you’re hurting, and that your stomach is upset. I’ll walk carefully, for my sake as well as yours. And I want a word with Master Nestorion anyway.” 

“Tattle-tale,” Thranduil accused his older gwador.

Linwe didn’t even bother to deny it. He carefully picked Theli up, cradling the younger elf in his arms.

Theli’s midnight-blue eyes twinkled with merriment, preparing Thranduil for some joke, but not for the elfling’s tale reference the healer came up with.

“Why, grandmother,” Theli jested to Linwe, “What strong arms you have!”

“Is my line, ‘The better to feed you to the angry Master Healer with?’” Linwe joked back, rather surprising Thranduil again. Linwe then proceeded to take Theli off in the direction of the stairs, leaving Thranduil alone with just Fileg.

Which had been, once upon a time, not that odd a circumstance. Fileg had given up soldiering to be one of Thranduil’s guards, after Thranduil became King. Often, it had been Thranduil going somewhere, and Fileg keeping him company in the quiet moments between. Then Thranduil had married Minaethel, who, like Fileg, was a distant cousin of Thranduil’s. And then it had been the three of them, Thranduil, Minathiel, and his cousin and best friend Fileg, enjoying the stillness in between all of the being King and Queen.

For everything that Minaethiel had been to Thranduil, wife and best friend and mother of his elflings, he could never forget, in these moments, that it had been Fileg who was Minaethiel’s friend, before she even knew Thranduil. Thranduil had lost his wife, who had been his best friend. But before she had been Thranduil’s best friend, she had been Fileg’s. He missed her, too. And Thranduil had failed him, too, by letting Minaethiel and their children, and Fileg’s daughter, go on that trading trip without him.

“If you keep thinking along those lines,” Fileg told him, his tone firm despite the affection and the sorrow he normally kept hidden beneath his surface cheer, “then I am going to kick you on your sore knee.”

“No, you won’t,” Thranduil drawled, pulling a pillow from behind his back to throw at Fileg, “You’re too afraid of Linwe.”

“I am not!” Fileg protested, after a very satisfactory ‘oomph,’ when the pillow hit his face, “And, once I explain why I did it, Linwe won’t even get mad at me, so there!” he said, in the sing-song tone of a much younger elfling. He accompanied the juvenile taunt by sticking his tongue out at Thranduil, which got him the laugh he’d been aiming for, to judge by his satisfied expression.

It also moved them past that moment. That horrible, frigid moment in nearly every conversation they had between just the two of them. The moment when Thranduil – or Fileg, because sometimes it was Fileg – realized that Minaethiel was missing. That she wasn’t there, that she wouldn’t ever be there again, not until their war was won and they sailed West. Or until their war was lost, and they were reborn in a West where, if Elrond and Galadriel were to be believed, the Valar themselves would be readying the elves for War with a Sauron empowered by all the blood he had shed in reaching victory on Middle Earth.

“That Moment” usually went unspoken, by both of them. But for some reason, this time Fileg felt the need to say something about it.

“You know that Theli’s getting hurt wasn’t your fault, don’t you, Thranduil?” Fileg asked, unaccustomedly serious.

If he’d been any less serious, Thranduil would have responded as if his inquiry had been a jest. He would have responded with an airy ‘Of course I do, what do I look like to you, an idiot?’

But Fileg was in earnest, and the Valar had given Fileg, by whatever quirk of cousinly bloodlines, eyes of exactly the same shade of blue as Minaethiel’s. It was almost as if it was her asking, and for her, Thranduil had to tell the truth.

“He wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t sent him, Fileg,” Thranduil said hoarsely, “And neither would you have been. I did that, I sent you away, you and what was left of your family, you and Calmarille, Ridhae, Brasseniel, and Cenedru.”

“Not all that was left of my family,” Fileg said, his blue eyes mourning but resolved, and so very kind, “You are my family, too. You, and Legolas and Thalion, and Linwe, and Raina, and Raina and Veassen’s children.”

“And I separated you and your wife and your children from the rest of us, made you leave everything you knew when you were grieving just as much as I,” Thranduil said, hating himself with every word.

Then Fileg did kick him, although it wasn’t on his twisted knee. It was on his good shin.

Thranduil didn’t even protest, so guilty did he feel. Fileg’s answer to that was to kick him again. On the same shin, even harder.

“Ow! Blast it, what is wrong with you? I’m trying to apologize!” Thranduil roared, his temper all but gone away with him again. Sorrow was so close to anger, sometimes.

“And I’m trying to tell you,” Fileg said fiercely, his blue eyes blazing, “That I’m glad. That I’m glad that you sent me – sent us – away.”

Disbelieving, it was all Thranduil could do to even bring himself together enough to ask, “In the Valar’s name, Fileg, why? Were you truly so angry with me, that you wanted to leave?”

“No, gwador, never that,” Fileg assured him, taking a seat on the arm of the chair at Thranduil’s side, “But I was lost. I couldn’t sort out what of the grief I was feeling was mine at Mina’s death, and what was yours. I couldn’t tell when I wanted to weep because I was missing my lost daughter Sedilien, or when I was mourning your daughter. When Celeborn told you that we had to abandon Emyn Duir, the home of our children’s happy elflinghoods, I couldn’t separate out my fear for your Thalion from my fear for my Ridhae. I needed the space, Thranduil. To figure out what was me, what was my feeling bereft, and what was you, and your feelings of loss.”

“But that wasn’t why I sent you,” Thranduil berated himself, “I sent you because I lost my temper.”

“Think about it a little more carefully, gwador,” Fileg said intently, “Don’t think about what you said to me. Think about what you wanted for me.”

“I wanted you to stop hurting,” Thranduil whispered, thinking back to the moment when his faith and his pride in his own ability to protect the Wood had been challenged, and he’d snapped at Celeborn, Theli, and Fileg. 

Satisfied, Fileg nodded, “Yes. And where did you send me?”

“To my self-righteous cousin Celeborn,” Thranduil said self-mockingly, purposely misunderstanding Fileg’s point.

This time Fileg reached over to tug on the end of one of Thranduil’s warrior’s braids, instead of kicking him. It was marginally more annoying. Thranduil slapped his hand away.

“Where?” Fileg asked again, apparently perfectly content to keep asking the question until he got a true answer.

With a sigh, Thranduil looked back through the mists of his own anger and hurt, which had for once been more aimed at Celeborn than his wife. Then Thranduil admitted, “I sent you to Galadriel. Because I thought that if anyone would understand what it meant to lose a cousin who was such a dear friend, it would be her.”

“Yes,” said Fileg, first stroking Thranduil’s hair and then resting his own head on top of his gwador’s, “Even though you don’t really like spending time with her yourself.” 

“It wasn’t about what I liked,” Thranduil replied, moving his hand to clasp Fileg’s, “It was about what you needed. And I’m glad that when you came back, you came back more heart-whole. And I’m sorry that I had to send you away again so quickly.”

“You’re the Aran, gwador,” Fileg chided him, squeezing his hand tightly for a moment, “I’ve known about that, or at least known about that being who you might someday be, since nearly the start of our being friends. And you’re my Aran. I didn’t like having to leave you again before we had a chance to really talk, but you needed someone to go and talk to the Northmen, in their city. Someone whom they would actually listen to. I’m glad that I could do that for you. Proud, even.”

Thranduil squeezed Fileg’s hand back, accepting all of that. For the first time, truly accepting it, that he hadn’t hurt his cousin and gwador as terribly as he’d thought that he had. To move past the intensity of that moment, Thranduil said lightly, “Well, someone had to reassure them. For your sins, the Northmen seem willing to treat on an even-handed basis only with you or Luthavar.”

Fileg laughed. Lifting his head up, he teased, “Yes, they said something about only the two of us not being as stuffy, hidebound, and icicle-like as most elven nobles.”

“I’m sure that they did,” Thranduil said mockingly, although in truth he had little doubt that some of them thought that, even if they hadn’t out-and-out said it. “The Men of Gondor and the Chieftains of Lost Arnor do fine with almost any of our diplomats, but for the less-civilized Northmen and Woodsmen of the East Bight, it’s you or Luthavar. And I needed him for the South.” Which Thranduil didn’t really want to think about. 

“He’ll be fine, gwador,” Fileg reprimanded lightly, “You sent him with enough protection to make a foray into Mordor itself.”

Thranduil couldn’t hide a shudder, “Don’t even jest about that, Fileg.”

“You’re right. I won’t. Not again,” Fileg promised.

Thranduil searched for something to move his mind off of that subject, and off of the missing Veassen, the lost fourth in their circle of blood-brothers, who had died protecting Thranduil’s wife and children and Fileg’s daughter. Veassen was – had been – even better at reassuring Thranduil than Fileg was becoming. Fileg, before the death of so much of their family, had often been too tempted to say something outrageous to be really good at comforting. Veassen had been the one who was good at reassuring Thranduil, and at getting Thranduil to see the other side of one issue or another.

But now, it seemed like Fileg was stepping into Veassen’s shoes in that way. Thranduil wondered if something similar was happening with him, or with Linwe. Were they all becoming stretched out versions of themselves? Losing some of the bits of themselves which made them unique, just to stretch to cover some of the missing spaces left behind by Minaethiel’s and Veassen’s absences?

It was Fileg who changed the subject, asking playfully, “Thranduil, keep in mind that I have just spent the past months with the very officious Lord Arlamor playing the role of my secretary, and . . .

“Better you than me,” Thranduil muttered, feeling a little bit badly for having inflicted Arlamor on Fileg. Although he hadn’t even been aware that he’d done so. After putting the recently returned Fileg in charge of the Northmen expedition, Thranduil had left the rest of the work of staffing it to Herdir, and to his young cousin Lothgail, who had taken her lost brother Coruthelion’s place as Luthavar’s chief apprentice. But Thranduil had rather enjoyed the absence of Arlamor during the same months that he’d missed Fileg. Idly, he wondered whether there was something else Herdir could send the tedious, swollen-headed young fellow off to do . . .

“Yes, lucky you,” Fileg conceded, “But after just having finished with that experience, which included, by the way, trying to keep Arlamor from stepping on the Northmen’s toes, which was NOT an easy thing to do, I have to ask . . . please, please tell me that you weren’t jesting when you addressed our artless Theli as a Lord?”

Thranduil tipped his face up with a smile, “I wasn’t jesting. It’ll take a while to get all of the official nonsense sorted out. But it should all be done in time to annoy Arlamor and his ilk before Council convenes after the autumn rains let up.”

One sound that Thranduil had very much missed was Fileg’s merry laugh. It made Linwe smile, too, as he came back through the door carrying a tray with the promised tea, as well as cider, fruit and cheese.

“I can’t wait to see their faces,” Fileg gasped, once he had caught his breath.

“Whose faces?” Linwe asked, after placing the tray on a table and then bringing the table close to Thranduil’s chair.

“Specifically, young Lord Arlamor’s,” Thranduil said lazily, “Although also others amongst the stuffier members of my court, when they learn that the healer you were just carting around is the newest lord of our Great Greenwood. Well, what is left of it anyway.”

Linwe gave Thranduil a skeptical look, “I’d been hoping that was a jest.”

That made Fileg laugh again.

“How is he?” Thranduil asked.

“Fine. But he’d be better if he listened to his healers, Nestorion says, so it’s no wonder that he’s got so much sympathy for you,” Linwe related.

Thranduil rolled his eyes, then asked, “And what did Master Nestorion say about my knee?”

Without even attempting to deny that he’d asked the Master Healer, Linwe answered, “That Theli is a competent healer, even if he’s a hopeless patient, and that if he says your knee just needs resting and tea, then that’s what it needs.”

“Amazing,” Thranduil observed sarcastically, “That’s exactly what I would have said, had anyone bothered to ask me.”

Fileg snorted, “Thranduil, don’t even try to act as if you’re good about reporting injuries in the appropriate manner. Or at all, for that matter.”

“Drink your tea,” said Linwe. Thranduil did, in part because he was hoping to avoid further discussion of the whole matter of hiding injuries. It wasn’t Linwe’s favorite of Thranduil’s several bad habits. 

“What were you talking about with Theli, which led you to the novel idea of ennobling him?” Fileg asked.

“I was deciding not to leave,” Thranduil replied, the words feeling lighter as he said them, “And not to send Legolas away.”

Fileg only nodded thoughtfully.

Linwe, on the other hand, regarded Thranduil incredulously, “You were discussing that, with him?”

Thranduil declined to explain.

“It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds, Lin. Theli’s got a way of talking that helps you listen to yourself more clearly,” Fileg said, “Thranduil’s cousin Celeborn could likely explain it better, now that they’ve become friends.”

“I’m sure that he could,” said Thranduil scathingly. Thranduil was sure that he liked Theli, but he was really not sure if he liked sharing Celeborn with Theli as well as with Elrond, Haldir, Orophin, Rumil, and Fileg, for that matter. 

Fileg lifted a palm in the elven equivalent of a shrug, clearly willing to let the issue go. Somberly, he said, “We’re glad that you reached those decisions, gwador, however it was that you came to them. We couldn’t do this without you, and if you sent Legolas away, there wouldn’t be enough left of you here to fight on." 

Thranduil couldn’t deny that Fileg had the right of that, and he didn’t want to dwell on it. Instead, he simply nodded, and then changed the subject.

“How was your patrol, Lin?”

“More exciting than we had hoped,” Linwe reported, his jade green eyes glinting in frustration.

Thranduil nodded grimly. Unfortunately, that was the same feeling he’d been getting from the news brought by the northward winds through the trees.

“We’ll get through this together, gwador,” said Linwe quietly. “Just like we did last time.”

“Last time we had almost half again our current number of armed elves, Linwe,” Thranduil observed quietly.

“It doesn’t matter, Thranduil,” said Fileg, with Minaethiel’s inexhaustible hope in his eyes, “Everyone who is still here is determined to win. That’s better than last time. Last time about half of us had already given up.”

“We still have Rochendil,” Linwe noted, “And the better half of our actual field commanders. Many of those who left had always been better suited to a peace-time military. I won’t miss you having to maneuver around them while the rest of us sooth ruffled feathers in your wake.”

Fileg laughed, “Since when did you ever soothe ruffled feathers, Linwe? That was usually . . .” Fileg paused before saying Veassen’s name, and instead ended, “That was usually someone else’s job.”

Linwe ignored that, and instead continued listing positives, “And we have a solid set of reserves. Including, Eru help me, Theli.”

“I thought that you had refused to take him back?” Thranduil asked, vaguely interested.

“I’d take him back in a second as a healer alone, if he’d agree to stick to that,” Linwe clarified, “If he keeps trying to be both a healer and a soldier, he’s likely to get himself killed, like Parrochil did. But if I don’t take him, someone else will. He’s not the best swordsman, but he’s not bad either, and he keeps his head. We’re going to need him.”

“And all of our other one-time soldiers turned to peace time trades,” Thranduil added, worrying over Fileg’s son Cenedru, among others. Fileg’s older son Ridhae was a soldier born. Thranduil didn’t like that he was sending Ridhae off to risk his life, but at least that was what Ridhae had always wanted to do with his life, and he was good at it. The same went for Thranduil’s foster-son, Thalion.

But Fileg’s younger son Cenedru wanted to be an architect. He was a good architect-in-training, from everything that Thranduil had seen. But he had also passed the basic arms training required for candidacy in Greenwood’s military, and there was no doubt in Thranduil’s mind that they were going to need him. Valar help them all. 

Fileg nodded somberly, then brought up one of Thranduil’s most aching worries, “Legolas will be eligible for military service in less than a century, gwador.”

“I know,” said Thranduil, and nothing more. What else was there to say? Legolas already had the makings of an excellent archer, and his chubby little hand already held his toy lead-weighted wooden sword as if he knew what he was doing. Which he did. He had the best teachers. That was the best Thranduil could do, because he knew his baby son. And he knew that Legolas would not be left out of this fight.

“He’ll survive,” said Linwe firmly, “You did, after all. And you were worse than him.”

“Worse?” Thranduil asked irritably, although in truth he felt somewhat better, “What do you mean, worse?”

“Much worse,” Fileg added, with a grin of his own. 

“Well,” began Linwe, his jade-green eyes dancing, and Thranduil prepared to let Linwe and Fileg tease him out of his worries. There were only three of them now, not five. But they still fit together. And they would get through this next siege together. Here, in this airy room at the top of the North Hall, Thranduil had to have confidence in that.


	27. True Colors Chapter 1: After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Legolas agree to disagree about the “dwarf issue,” and Thranduil goes searching out an old friend to help guard his son’s back, should Legolas take disagreement to the point of treason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This story takes place directly after “Temper, and Time,” chapter 9 of the Tales of the Greenwood, which is available here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/1128331
> 
> Thranduil’s past experience fighting dragons is discussed in “Dragonfire,” chapter 13 of the Tales of the Greenwood, which is available here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/2489173
> 
> A/N 2: The elven OC Master Healer Nestorion and possibly several others who appear in this story belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote:
> 
> “When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth.” ― Jess C. Scott

King Thranduil of the Greenwood had a temper. Everyone knew that. He knew that. But years and years of careful, loving, and sometimes stern training from his parents, kin, and family friends had taught him icy control of that temper. He knew that his mother, at least, regretted that he had lost so much of his youthful spontaneity. But it was hard to hang onto spontaneity when he also needed to be King.

 

Thranduil’s wife had called those rare occasions when her husband well and truly lost control of his temper “storms.” And they were rare. In order to limit the amount of nonsense that Thranduil had to put up with in order to conserve his strength and patience for what really mattered, he and his advisors had early on set up a system where the King seemed to have little time or attention for most routine matters of administration. Part of that partial-charade and partial-strategy required Thranduil to APPEAR to lose his temper at times. Which was useful, in that it allowed Thranduil to vent, and also gave him an outlet for his creativity.

 

Few things were enough to truly make him angry, and unable to control that anger. One of them was threats to his people. And that was exactly what was happening right now, even if some of his advisors – and even his beloved heir – could not see it.

 

First, Saruman the White, the Leader of the White Council, wrote to Thranduil. That alone was enough to put the King in a bad humor for a day, even though he wouldn’t generally lose his temper. Thranduil still felt sure, in his heart, that Saruman had somehow been involved in the ambush by orcs and giant spiders which had resulted in the deaths of his wife and three of his children just before the end of the Watchful Peace. They hadn’t been able to recover the bodies of his slain wife and children, but one of their soldiers had managed to find a scrap of his wife’s dress. In her own blood, with what must have been the last of her energy, she had used her fingers to draw the symbol of a stick beside a frog. It was the shorthand that she and Thranduil had used during meetings of the White Council, when they passed notes back and forth making fun of the stuffy Saruman and his slightly more tolerable colleague, Mithrandir.

 

Most of Thranduil’s friends and family members thought that the King was imagining things. That he was looking to make sense out of a senseless tragedy. And true, it had been a very rough drawing of a stick and a frog. But Thranduil knew his wife, and giving him and their people a warning of treachery was exactly the type of thing she would expend the last of her energy to do.

 

Then there was what Saruman wanted. Thranduil actually more or less agreed with it! That was the horrible and maddening part. Apparently, there was a party of dwarves, led by Thorin the grandson of the last King of Erebor, coming here to the Greenwood, on their way to try to steal their treasure back from the Dragon Smaug. Saruman wanted Thranduil to capture the dwarves and send them back to the Blue Mountains.

 

And if Saruman hadn’t recommended such an action, then Thranduil would have been tempted to do just that. If the dwarves did the polite thing and came the long way around the forest to meet with him in his North Hall, then the King would tell them to go away. Politely. Unless they were willing to offer him something worth the elves’ while to help them.

 

Long ago, before their move to Erebor, Thror’s late brother Fror had promised Thranduil a chest of moonstones in thanks for the elves’ aid in the dwarves’ flight from the Gray Mountains. Thror had reneged on his younger brother’s promise. Thranduil had planned to use those moonstones to reinforce the safe store houses at the edges of his elves’ different patrol routes. With the moonstones, even a moderately competent priest-soldier or seer-soldier could channel enough power to obscure the gaze of the Enemy and his servants. Or at least could do so for long enough to triage the wounded and get them on their way back to the North Hall.

 

If Thorin was willing to honor his great-uncle Fror’s word and retrieve the moonstones from within Smaug’s lair and give them to the elves, then Thranduil would be willing to give the dwarves escort through the Greenwood, and even some military and logistical support all the way to the Lonely Mountain. Of course, the latter would be in part to make sure that the dwarves kept their word, but still. Thranduil and his elves would help them.

 

And if the dwarves refused . . . well, they had cellars in the North Hall which they had used, from time to time, as cells when they captured human bandits, until they could find a proper place to extradite them to. They had even occasionally used them to detain elven criminals, until sentence was delivered. The dwarves could stay there until they either changed their minds about retrieving the moonstones along with whatever else they were after, or at the very least politely asked Thranduil’s leave to give up on their Quest and go back to the Blue Mountains. And then Thranduil would send them with an escort to make sure that they did exactly that.

 

So, Thranduil had more or less made up his mind to do something at least slightly different than Saruman had recommended, despite the risk of waking the dragon if the dwarves were willing to help retrieve the moonstones. If the dwarves agreed, then steps would have to be taken to secure the safety of the humans of Laketown, who were the elves’ trading partners and nominal allies.

 

Thranduil had no real fondness for the Master of Laketown or for Laketown’s current merchant elite. But he had been fond of some of their distant ancestors. And Thranduil’s beloved only living blood son, Legolas, had been very fond of Lord Girion, the last Lord of Esgaroth. The last that Thranduil had heard, Girion still had descendants in Laketown. Another Bard, Thranduil thought the man was named.

 

In any case, steps would have to be taken to protect the humans. And to guard the retreat route of the dwarves and the elven soldiers sent to assist/guard them. Thranduil would insist that his General take only volunteers for that mission. The elven guards, and the dwarves, might have to be left to the dragon’s mercies. Smaug had shown himself in the past willing to let the Wood be, and Thranduil could not risk large numbers of elven lives securing the safety of only a few elves and dwarves. The Greenwood simply didn’t have enough soldiers left for that to be feasible.

 

But all of that depended on the dwarves agreeing to retrieve the moonstones, and Thranduil felt that to be quite unlikely. But in any case, he had reached his peace with that decision. And then the letters had come from the wizard Mithrandir, and then his cousins Elrond and Galadriel, both urging him to heed Mithrandir!

 

Thranduil didn’t dislike Mithrandir as intensely as he did Saruman, but he still didn’t trust the ithron. And Galadriel annoyed Thranduil intensely, despite his fondness for her husband, Celeborn, who had been in many ways like an uncle to Thranduil during his youth. A missive from Galadriel was always irritating, even though Thranduil trusted her far more than he did Saruman. So it was vaguely disquieting to find himself in agreement with Saruman, and in conflict with the aims of Galadriel and Mithrandir.

 

Not to mention Elrond! Thranduil loved Elrond dearly, and he owed him a great deal. Debts that Elrond had never even noticed, because he was the kind of elf and kinsman who would do anything for those he loved. And yet even Elrond was encouraging Thranduil to listen to Mithrandir, and to aid these ridiculous dwarves on their foolish Quest.

 

Did the dwarves even know that Mithrandir was PLANNING for them to wake the dragon, and then somehow dispatch it?!? What did Mithrandir think that the dwarves were going to be able to do, to defeat a dragon? Thranduil knew dragons! It was a ridiculous, reckless, foolhardy, dangerous plan, and Thranduil would have no part in it.

 

And then, insult to injury, Legolas spoke up in Council and disagreed with his father. Legolas very rarely did that. He hadn’t been there when Thranduil and his party went north to the Grey Mountains to discourage the dragons from foraying into the Greenwood. But he had seen the damage done to Thranduil, one of only two survivors from that expedition. Legolas should have known better. But, to be fair, Legolas was young. He was young, and he feared what would happen if Smaug awoke of his own accord, and joined the dangers facing the Greenwood. And he was not entirely wrong to fear it. But Thranduil was old enough to know that fighting a dragon at some indefinite time in the future was better than fighting one this winter. And he’d told Legolas that.

 

They’d quarreled, in public no less. And then they’d sparred, without having apologized first. It had been foolish. Neither of them was hurt, but . . . Thranduil had lost his temper. And he did regret it.

 

And so he was determined to apologize at breakfast the next morning. It was to be a private meal, taken in the royal apartments. With much of his family and close friends away on their various patrols or diplomatic missions, it was only Thranduil, Legolas, and Thranduil’s foster-son Thalion.

 

Thalion was much older than Legolas. He’d been born during the late Second Age. His father, the soldier Aerandir, had been killed at the War of the Last Alliance. Thranduil’s wife had taken in Thalion, whose mother had died not long before. And then, after their wedding, they had officially become Thalion’s foster parents. Thranduil did not know what he would have done without Thalion, after the death of his wife and his older heirs, Thandrin and the twins Eyrntheliel and Lithidhren. To have both of his sons present for breakfast was a rare and pleasant treat, for both of them were also soldiers posted with different companies.

 

Thranduil entered after Legolas and Thalion had both already taken their seats. His entrance interrupted what had evidently been a fairly intense conversation between them. But what concerned Thranduil more were the small cuts on Legolas’ fair face.

 

“Good morning, Ada,” Legolas said with a tentative smile, seeming not apologetic for his hard-line stance in their disagreement of yesterday, but at the least willing to put it behind them.

 

Well enough. So was Thranduil. But he wanted an explanation for the injuries to his child.

 

“Good morning, laes-nin,” Thranduil greeted him, infusing his tone with all of his fondness and willingness to forgive, and enjoyed the light of relief which entered Legolas’ laurel-green eyes at that evidence of “the storm” being over. Thranduil didn’t bring up the cuts at first. Legolas knew that he’d seen them, and that he’d ask. But he’d let the youth eat first.

 

“How was your patrol, Thalion?” Thranduil asked his eldest.

 

“Tiring,” Thalion admitted with a frustrated smile, “We need that cursed bridge over the Enchanted River in order to move quickly enough to push the orcs and wargs and spiders back before they move to the other side to flank us. Their greater numbers allow them to push a force onto both sides, while we, well.”

 

“You’re doing your best,” Thranduil told him firmly, well aware of the problem of the bridge, “And I believe that our engineers have a solution to that.”

 

“Truly?” asked Legolas, perking up. A bridge over the Enchanted River would allow Home Company, which was the unit Legolas was currently attached to, to reinforce the companies based on the other side of the Enchanted River.

 

“So the Elders say,” Tharnduil said with a skeptical smile, “And your cousin Televegil is very enthusiastic about it.”

 

Both of his sons laughed, which was what Thranduil had intended.

 

“And I’m sure that the elfling bent your ear about it until someone came to rescue you, didn’t he, Ada?” Thalion asked, with fondness for his father and affectionate exasperation for the rather loquacious cousin Televegil.

 

“He did, indeed,” Thranduil recognized, “’Twas his sister Baeraeriel who came to rescue me,” Thranduil frowned faintly at that. Baeraeriel was one of the Greenwood’s few female soldiers, and she’d recently been accused of trying to use that status to incriminate a snake of a senior officer who Thranduil was fairly sure was lying about the whole incident. The military inquest was coming up shortly, and he didn’t want to dwell on it. Legolas would testify, they’d already talked about it, no need to go into that now. More lightly, Thranduil related, “The rest of our kin just stood back and laughed as Televegil talked my ear off during a dance to celebrate the harvest. They didn’t laugh aloud, you know, but they clearly felt that it was only fair that I get to deal with him, for some reason.”

 

“You did pay for his training,” Legolas pointed out fairly, reaching for the ewer of maple syrup to further slather his pancakes. Thranduil’s youngest son had quite a sweet tooth. Whenever Legolas was in residence, the kitchens sent up two ewers of maple syrup with breakfast, just so that Legolas could have his fill.

 

“Did you, Ada?” asked Thalion, clearly surprised.

 

“I did,” Thranduil allowed, resting his sapphire-eyed gaze on Legolas, “Although I’d be very interested to know where you heard that, laes-nin.”

 

“Ah,” Legolas paused, a sticky bite of pancake poised on his fork, “I’d . . . rather not say?”

 

“I imagine not,” Thranduil agreed wryly, as Thalion chuckled.

 

“In any case, ionnath-nin,” Thranduil explained, letting Legolas off the hook this time, “Televegil will be accompanying Thalion’s unit later this week to try to install the base of the temporary bridge. The base is to be stone, difficult to destroy. Each patrol will begin to carry with it the makings of a bridge, in mallorn wood and rope, that can be quickly constructed and attached to the stone base.”

 

Thalion nodded with satisfaction, “That way, we can always have a way to cross the river.”

 

“That is the hope,” Thranduil agreed. Eru knew he was tired of having to authorize funds and elves to rebuild the cursed thing every time the Enemy’s servants destroyed it.

 

“What happened to Televegil’s old idea of building the bridge with spider webbing?” Legolas asked, now drowning his bacon in maple syrup, to his foster-brother’s disgust and Thranduil’s resignation. 

 

“His stodgy King refused to approve the experimentation, given that I feel our priority with spiders should be killing them, and not harvesting their webs,” Thranduil said acerbically.

 

“Well, the spider webbing is there, and it’s strong as steel, Ada,” Legolas argued, “We might as well make use of it.”

 

“It belongs to the Enemy, Legolas,” Thranduil pointed out patiently, “What belongs to the Enemy is likely to fail us at just the worst moment.”

 

“Does the webbing still have evil will all its own, though?” Legolas persisted.

 

“I don’t know, ion-nin. And how would you propose that we test that?” Thranduil inquired archly.

 

“Oh,” Legolas realized, “There’s no way to do it, except to build the bridge and test it in actual combat conditions.”

 

“Where, even if it failed for structural reasons,” Thalion added, “It might be assumed that it failed due to ill will. Either way, the soldiers would lose confidence in the engineers.”

 

“And maybe also in their King,” Thranduil added, “So we’re going to leave the idea alone, Legolas. Your excessively enthusiastic cousin Elladan says that the rope he’s sent us does include spider webs, but those of some normal golden spider found in the far south, that is just a spider, so far as anyone knows.”

 

“That does sound like something Elladan would come up with,” Legolas agreed, while Thalion had the strained look on his face that always accompanied mention of Elladan, ever since the Great Spider Incident when Legolas had been only a young elfling.

 

Thalion rallied and shook his head, dispelling those memories. Then he asked, “What did we trade with Lothlorien for the mallorn wood, Ada?”

 

“Nothing,” Thranduil said, not overly pleased with that himself, “Or nothing of commensurate worth, at the very least.”

 

“Ugh,” said Thalion, who shared Thranduil’s opinion of Galadriel in magnanimous mode.

 

“It came from cousin Celeborn,” Thranduil noted.

 

“That’s only a little better,” argued Thalion.

 

“Hmm,” said Thranduil, who felt it was much better. The fact that Thalion and Celeborn still were at odds at times might be somewhat Thranduil’s fault, but that was a different story.

 

Thranduil waited patiently while Legolas finished the last of his winter fruit and morning tea, keeping the topics of conversation light, or as light as was possible between the ruler and his soldier sons in a kingdom under siege.

 

But as soon as Legolas had finished his breakfast, Thranduil asked, “Thalion, please give me and your brother some privacy. We need to have a discussion.”

 

Legolas groaned, and put his head down in his hands.

 

Thalion gave Legolas an unreadable look, then acquiesced politely. “I am scheduled to join Orophin and his Goldenwood guards for a hunt close to the Hall grounds,” Thalion explained, “I will go and doublecheck that all the proper security arrangements are in place.”

 

“See that you do,” Thranduil ordered, “A day’s leisure should not put you at risk. I am sorry that ensuring that it does not requires so much effort.”

 

Thalion gave him a fond, reassuring smile, and a quick embrace in parting, “It’s not your fault, Ada,” his foster-son assured him, before collecting his weapons and his armor and heading out the door.

 

Thranduil turned his attention to his youngest son, who peeked out at him tentatively from between the fingers of his hands covering his face.

 

“Care to explain the cuts on your face, Legolas?” Thranduil asked idly, but his son knew him well enough to know that it was a command.

 

Legolas wrinkled his nose in disgust. “’Not particularly,’ wouldn’t be an acceptable answer, would it, Ada?”

 

Thranduil merely waited, letting his silence speak for him.

 

Legolas sighed, “It was stupid. It’s over. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Who hurt you?” Thranduil said firmly, his patience nearly at an end. 

 

“Nobody,” said Legolas, blushing slightly, “I threw a blunted practice sword at the wall. It dented the wall and sent chips of stone flying back into my face.”

 

Thranduil blinked in surprise, then repeated incredulously, “You threw . . . a sword . . . at a wall?”

 

“A stone wall,” Legolas clarified, shame faced, his eyes on his syrup-streaked breakfast plate.

 

“Why?” Thranduil asked, torn between bafflement and concern.

 

“I . . . I was angry, after we talked. I was trying to work myself into exhaustion with a too-heavy sword. But even after I had, I wasn’t calm. So I threw the sword at the wall.”

 

“I see,” said Thranduil, who thought that he might. Legolas had a temper of his own, after all, even if it was difficult to rouse. “And what have you learned from this experience?”

 

“Ah . . . not to throw swords at walls?” Legolas answered, clearly hoping that the admission would put an end to the matter.

 

“A lesson which I had never thought that anyone would actually have to learn, let alone a young ellon as clever as you,” Thranduil said, with mingled affection and exasperation, “But yes, that is true. Now,” he continued, making sure to hold his son’s gaze, “Let us put this matter to peace between us, so that neither of us leaves this Hall and ventures into danger with it unsettled.”

 

“I would like that,” Legolas agreed.

 

Thranduil nodded, then said, “We disagree, you and I. I am the King, and I have decided that we will not aid these foolish dwarves unless they agree to fulfill the promise that Thorin’s great-uncle made to me before he was slain by the great dragon Asgareth, she who nearly killed me, she who did kill every soldier supporting me on that mission save one.”

 

“I know, Ada,” said Legolas, his laurel-green eyes bright with anger and tears at the memory of his father’s near death, and many years of difficult recovery. Years during which Legolas had been required to act as Regent. Despite the aid of many family members, friends, and advisors, it had been a difficult experience for Legolas, even aside from his worries over his father. Although, Thranduil knew, that had been the worst part for his son. 

 

“No, you do not,” Thranduil disagreed, his voice as unyielding as stone but mostly devoid of anger, “You cannot know, because you have never had to face a dragon. It would take more than an army to defeat Smaug, at least without dragon-arrows and archers skilled in firing them. You cannot know that, because you have never faced a dragon in combat. We only stopped Asgareth by dropping part of a cliff upon her.”

 

“But, Ada, we may have to face the dragon anyway,” Legolas protested, “Some day when we are also being pressed more fiercely on all other sides by Enemy soldiers. Why not let it be now? Cousin Elrond and cousin Galadriel say that they will support us. Why not gather their strength, and our own, and even the dwarves’, if they’ll aid us. Get the Men to support us too, and all of us together go to face Smaug.”

 

“It’s a nice theory, Legolas,” Thranduil said cynically, “But Elrond and Galadriel don’t have anything that will let us take on a dragon and win, not without incurring terrible, potentially war-ending, losses. The Men will not join us, they would rather huddle in fear upon their lake. And the dwarves are only planning to creep into their former home like thieves, and take a few gems from the sleeping dragon’s lair.”

 

“You would know better than I, Ada, but . . .”

 

“But you are consumed by the optimism and fire of youth,” Thranduil said dismissively, “And you think that you know best. But I have made my will clear, and you will obey it. Is that understood, my heart and my heir?”

 

“I understand,” Legolas conceded, his eyes still burning green fire.

 

“See that you do as you are told, then,” Thranduil said sternly, “And I will not hold against you that you think I am doing the wrong thing.”

 

Legolas sighed, “And I will not hold against you that you think I am in the wrong, in my objections.”

 

Father and son nodded at eachother, more or less at peace once again. There was nothing quite so unsatisfying as an agreement to disagree, Thranduil thought to himself, but it was the best that he could do. He couldn’t ask his son to change who he was, his youth or his hope and belief in Men’s better nature, in the power of courage and boldness and alliance to win the day. To lose that hope, that belief, Thranduil himself had had to lose his father, and the bulk of the armed might of Greenwood the Great. Thranduil’s own youthful optimism had died in the dark fires of the War of the Last Alliance, never to be completely reborn. He would never wish that on his son. So he would have patience with Legolas’ frustration. Or he would try, at the least.

 

And now . . . to answer another question.

 

“Who saw to treating your hurts?” Thranduil asked his son intently, “And how far do they extend?”

 

Legolas winced, clearly wishing that his father hadn’t asked. “I’ve cuts on my shoulders, too. The flakes of stone were sharp. But nothing serious.”

 

“Good,” Thranduil allowed, believing that this was the truth from the absence of pain in his son’s eyes. And because Legolas was not a good liar, when directly questioned. “And who treated you? You were injured by the . . . wall, yestereve. Yet your hurts already look several days old.”

 

Legolas winced again, and looked around the room, as if his father might forget the question if he just hesitated long enough.

 

Thranduil remained silent, waiting.

 

At last, Legolas sighed in defeat, and admitted, “Theli. After I told him how it happened and that it wouldn’t happen again, he didn’t seem inclined to tell you or anyone else.” Resignedly, Legolas added, “He probably knew that you would find out on your own, anyway.”

 

“He should have told me, in any case,” Thranduil said, displeased.

 

“Ada, please don’t . . .”

 

“Don’t worry about Theli,” Thranduil assured his son, “I’ve forgiven him worse. And do have a care,” Thranduil added, standing and pulling Legolas into his arms and embracing him tightly. “Any hurt to you pains me,” the King continued, treasuring the feel of his youngest son safe in his arms, “I could not bear to lose you.”

 

“I’ll do my best, Ada,” Legolas promised. Then, stepping away from his father with a cheeky smile, he added, “I’m told by more than one party who has cause to know that I do better than you did, at taking care. When you were my age, I mean.”

 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes, but he had too much self-honesty to contradict that. He did threaten to go after whoever was telling tales, which made Legolas laugh again.

 

Then he demanded of his son, “The next time that you are so upset, I want you to go and talk to someone.”

 

“But, Ada, you weren’t . . .”

 

“I don’t mean me,” Thranduil said, and cursed himself for a temper-driven fool, but to be honest with his son and himself, he had to recommend instead, “Go talk to Thalion. Or to one of your aunts, uncles, or cousins. Or a friend. Or even Theli, for that matter. Don’t work yourself to exhaustion, because then your judgment will be impaired. And, as it should go without saying but apparently does not, do not throw swords at walls. Or knives, or anything else sharp.”

 

“So,” said Legolas, with both love and approbation, “It’s a case of ‘do as I say, not as I do’ . . .”

 

“You, my heart, are an impertinent child,” Thranduil told him, because it was true, and even because Thranduil loved having an impertinent child. He loved not only Legolas’ sense of humor and his insight, but that he’d raised a son who wasn’t afraid to be impertinent to his father. In that way, Thranduil comforted himself, he had not failed Legolas as a parent.

 

“And besides,” Thranduil added, “I never threw a sword at a wall.” At least not that he could remember. And he wasn’t about to go asking his friends or his family, because some things he didn’t really need to remember. And besides, the sally got him another laugh from his son.

 

“Where are you off to, this morn?” Thranduil asked his son, basking in Legolas’ light-hearted laughter.

 

“To spar with Baeraeriel and whoever else is about in the upper salon,” Legolas answered, “Would you like to join us, later?” he asked hopefully.

 

“If I can,” Thranduil promised, approving of the plan to keep Baeraeriel distracted until after the trial. Additionally, she was one of the few elven soldiers who, like Legolas, preferred fighting with two long daggers to the more customary long-sword. Baeraeriel, like Legolas, was a child of the Watchful Peace, although she had been born near the beginning and Legolas near the end. Still, at under a thousand years of age, Baeraeriel was accounted a young elf, indeed. But she was extremely skilled with her daggers. Baeraeriel was a military prodigy in nearly every sense of the term despite her diminutive frame, and Thranduil thoroughly approved of her as a sparring partner for his son, and he said so. He also promised to join Legolas and his fellow young soldiers if he had the time. He never failed to enjoy seeing his children demonstrate the ability to defend themselves, and loved having the opportunity to teach them new skills himself. In a different world, Thranduil would have dedicated himself to a career as a mere military officer. In that different world, he would have been able to spend more time training his children himself, rather than having to rely on others to do it for him.


	28. True Colors Chapter 2: Old Friends

Having made peace with Legolas did not mean that Thranduil wasn’t going to seek out his junior royal healer and have a word with Theli himself. Legolas being angry enough to do something so stupid as throwing a sword at a stone wall and injuring himself in so doing was something that Thranduil should have been told about, curse it all.

 

Thranduil tried the healer’s ward first, but found it quiet. Theli was primarily a trauma healer and a surgeon, and he was rarely to be found in a quiet healer’s ward. Next the King tried the alchemist’s domain, a place where he rarely ventured himself. Thranduil had a sensitive nose, and did not particularly care for the many strong smells which emanated from the alchemists’ various concoctions. The sound of bright laughter – Theli’s – from one of the medicinal still rooms helped the King to locate his prey.

 

The short healer and sometime-soldier was sitting at a long stone table covered in vials of various substances, some of them still smoking. He was in the midst of a knot of other healers, apothecarists, alchemists, and healer-alchemists, all of whom looked rather pleased with themselves.

 

“I think it would work,” said Master Alchemist the Lady Angolbrennil dubiously, “if one were to be able to set it over heat for a half hour first. Can you do that, in the field?”

 

Theli shrugged like a Man, making Angolbrennil and the other more formal elves about her shudder.

 

Master Healer Nestorion sighed, and placed a chiding hand on Theli’s shoulder. “I doubt it,” he said in answer to Angolbrennil’s question, “I am not sure that I would always have the half hour plus it would take to boil the purple root, white flower, and honey potion before applying it to the skin of a burn victim, even here in the Hall. How could you possibly have time for it while fleeing from the enemy?” Nestorion addressed this question to Theli, who was the only one amongst the healers and alchemists who was also a soldier.

 

“Sometimes the Enemy has been discouraged enough that time isn’t really a factor, at least not on the scale of taking dried ingredients, building a fire, and boiling them for thirty minutes,” Theli explained absently, as he tilted a vial of liquid, peering intently into its depths, “And besides, we could test whether the potion could maintain its integrity if we added a flash-fire component to the mix. If we could boil it in advance and just reactivate the heat inside the flask with a flint, we could maybe cut the activation time down to, say, five minutes?”

 

“That is quite a number of ‘ifs,’ Nestorion observed fondly, “But if you’ve gotten this far, and you have nothing else to do, you have my leave to use our supplies to pursue it. The gardeners have successfully cultivated our bee population within the Hall, and we can easily send elves out for more purple-root and white flower, even in winter.”

 

The Master Healer, who was also the Chief Royal Healer, turned his attention to Angolbrennil and asked, “Brenn? Do you have enough of the heating ingredients to spend them generously on what might end up being a dead end?”

 

Angolbrennil paused thoughtfully, then answered, “I think so, at least for a few more rounds of testing. This summer we can gather more of the tart berries used to create flash-fire, so at the very least experiments could resume then.”

 

“Burns?” Thranduil asked from where he stood in the doorway, taking most of the elves within the room entirely by surprise.

 

“Mostly chemical burns, Aran-nin,” Master Healer Nestorion answered fondly, “Such as those from spider-webs. If the fluid leaks between the seams of armor, your soldiers can suffer debilitating burns before they get sufficient respite to take off their armor and wash their skin with the cleaning agents it took us decades to concoct.”

 

“I see,” answered Thranduil, who had been aware of that problem. Intimately, personally, aware of it at times, much to the dismay of his guards and his family, who wished that the King would not take such a personal role in the slaying of the giant spiders which plagued their wood.

 

“And what would this new . . . whatever it is, do to fix the problem?” he inquired.

 

Theli looked up, enthusiasm sparking in his dark blue eyes, “Once activated, it could be mixed with normal wine, and then poured over the seams of the armor. Once there, it would dissolve the chemicals from the spider bites and shot webbing that cause the skin to actually burn. It would solve the problem of having webbed soldiers have to strip off their armor and wash as soon as possible, as the solution would work to dissolve the webbing while numbing the skin even through the cracks of armor.” 

 

“Clever,” Thranduil allowed, with an impressed nod to the ten elves in the room, “how soon could it actually be used by our patrols?”

 

“Impossible to say, Aran-nin,” Nestorion answered regretfully. All of the other elves, even Theli, seemed to agree, which was disappointing.

 

“What about dragon fire?” Thranduil asked, forcefully stopping himself from running his hands over the left side of his face, which had once been nearly destroyed by that substance. It was as different from normal fire as giant spider webs were from normal spider webs.

 

Most of the elves looked daunted, but Master Nestorion looked thoughtful, and Angolbrennil and Theli even appeared a bit intrigued.

 

“Maybe,” Theli allowed, “I’d have to write Elrond about it though.”

 

“Do so,” Thranduil directed, because Legolas was right about one thing, and that was that someday Smaug might be a problem they’d all have to deal with again. And in that eventuality, they would need all the help they could get, long-shot or not.

 

Remembering the argument with Legolas and what it had driven his son to yesterday evening, Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Theli, who looked back at him guilelessly, the deceptive brat. He knew very well what Thranduil was annoyed about!

 

“If you are at a stage of your testing which may be interrupted,” Thranduil asked in such a way as to suggest that the answer should be yes, “Then I would like a moment alone with Theli.”

 

The healers and alchemists exchanged mostly puzzled looks. Nestorion and Angolbrennil both appeared resigned, and at least Nestorion gave Theli a ‘what in Eru’s name did you do now?’ look, in answer to which Theli merely shrugged.

 

“Of course, Aran-nin,” Lady Angolbrennil answered on behalf of all of the gathered elves, and then shooed them out of the room. Master Nestorion and two of the healer-alchemists, particular friends of Theli’s if Thranduil recalled correctly, paused at the threshold, and looked worriedly between their King and Theli.

 

“Don’t worry,” Theli assured them with a lopsided, lazy smile, “If Thranduil didn’t find me amusing, no one would have ever chosen me to be around him in the first place.”

 

“Well, that is the By-Valar honest truth,” Nestorion muttered, but he still lingered long enough to ask Thranduil, “If he has done something foolish, I am willing to take care of it, Aran-nin.”

 

“I just want a word – or ten- with him, Nesta,” Thranduil assured the Master Healer who had patiently and kindly cared for him throughout Thranduil’s tumultuous youth and even through the present, “I’m not going to kill him.” No matter how tempting it might be at times!

 

“As you wish, Aran-nin,” Nestorion conceded, with a last concerned glance at the calm Theli.

 

When the door had closed, Thranduil crossed his arms and told the healer irritably, “You know perfectly well that you should have informed me last night that Legolas was picking fights with walls!”

 

Theli sighed, “I’m not a father, but I can understand that you would want to know. And if it were likely to happen again or if he had seemed likely to continue doing dangerous things in his distress, I would have told you. But Legolas was calm by the time I talked to him. And he’s not as stubbornly stupid as you are about getting hurt and not doing foolish things more than once, and . . .”

 

“Watch it,” Thranduil warned him sharply.

 

Theli just grinned at him, “Legolas is like you in some ways, but he isn’t you, Aran-nin. And I’m his healer too. I owe him what privacy I can give him if it’s not in conflict with his safety. I judged that he was safe enough for the night. And I knew that you’d see him in the morning, and find out for yourself.” 

 

All of that was true, so Thranduil did his best to control his indignation at being insulted, and his anger that any child of his would be hurt enough to need a healer, without him being informed of it. And then Thranduil paused, puzzled, because he felt that there was something else he should say, something else that he should ask Theli to do for him now, at this precise moment in time, and he couldn’t think of what it could be.

 

Theli waited on his stool by the alchemy table, perfectly still except for swinging a foot and tapping the fingers of his hand next to the table across its surface. Which was to say, as still as Theli ever was, outside of actual military combat.

 

Military combat . . . Theli wasn’t in the military now, and hadn’t been for several dozen years. And even before he’d taken his last leave of absence, he’d held no rank. Despite having once risen to the rank of Sergeant, a much higher rank in Greenwood’s military since Greenwood’s military had no automatic officer track, and had just merged the ranks of commissioned and non-commissioned officers, Theli had been demoted to the most junior of soldiers, despite his many years of dedicated service. The reason for that was mostly because he’d committed nominal treason by taking his last – and first - independent command hundreds of miles out of its purview in pursuit of slavers who had taken captive a number of human women and children, as well as just a few ellith and elflings.

 

Legolas had been part of that command. They had achieved part of their objective, in that they were able to slay or capture the slavers, and find out a great deal about their activities. Enough, in fact, that the elves’ Northmen allies were able to put a stop to the whole ring of slavers. But all of the ellith, elflings, women, and children were put to death by the slavers, just before Theli’s mixed elven and human patrol caught up to them. Legolas had had to see that carnage.

 

And Theli had dared to take Thranduil’s youngest son, and two dozen other elves under his command, so far outside of the Greenwood that there would have been no hope of supplies, aid, or reinforcements, had the slavers been a more formidable foe. Or had they encountered one of any multitude of possible dangers. It had been stupid, and disobedient. It had been beyond the pale even for an elf who had shown loyalty and dedication to his kingdom for over an age.

 

There had been voices, even within the military, which had called for Theli’s death, or for forcing Theli to sail to face justice in the West. Thranduil had ignored all of that. Theli had made enemies as well as friends throughout his long and checkered career as a soldier and his more recent tenure as a Lord, and some of the voices had been motivated by ignoble reasons. The prevailing view, amongst Thranduil’s most senior military leaders, including his general, had been that the harshest of military penalties would be sufficient to answer Theli’s crimes.

 

And Theli hadn’t contested that decree. He’d taken his intended-to-be permanent expulsion from the military, and also the most stringent physical punishment allowed under the rules of Greenwood’s army – a judicial birching - without any contest.

 

As the charge had been treason, Theli had been tried by Greenwood’s circle of elders as well as punished by the military. Thranduil had told the elders that he had no desire for blood, or banishment. The Elders had been merciful as well, assigning Theli to the custody of other healers for a dozen years, and assigning him hundreds of hours of menial services to carry out. 

 

Theli had accepted the custody arrangement with only occasional protests. And he had carried out the many hundreds of hours of menial services which had been part of his sentence with equal calm obedience. Nor had Thranduil interfered to save Theli from the consequences of his actions, despite having done so at various times in the past.

 

Theli’s breathtaking lack of judgement had brought into question all of the promotions he’d made during his time as the sergeant in command of the special mixed elven and human unit which had patrolled the lands between and around the Wood and the old human city of Esgaroth. Those promotions had included both Legolas’ promotion to junior officer and Thranduil’s cousin Baeraeriel’s promotion to lieutenant. There had had to be investigations and tribunals to consider whether Theli’s promotions should stand. They had, but it had been a near thing in several cases. Commoners could, and had, risen to the highest ranks of Greenwood’s military. But it often took them longer than those of noble rank or more privileged backgrounds. So there was some resentment of Legolas, and of Baeraeriel, and of the swiftness of their respective rises through the officer ranks.

 

Thranduil had taken some time to forgive Theli for that, but mostly for having put his son and his soldiers at risk. Baeraeriel, unlike Legolas, had been amongst those soldiers that Theli had at least had the sense to send back to the Hall, to report on what idiocy his patrol had embarked upon. Out of consideration for that, and in recognition for Theli’s many centuries of service, Thranduil had declined to strip him off his lordship, or even his status as a royal healer, although that last had been in part because Legolas had pleaded Theli’s case, and Thranduil had a hard time denying his youngest child his heart’s wishes.

 

Not long after his twelve years of service were over, Theli left the Greenwood for a time. Thranduil had heard that Theli’s cousin Orophin had asked for Theli’s company, and that he’d gone with Orophin to Lothlorien. Thranduil had worried a bit about that, after Theli’s last experience having been captured by orcs while riding with the Goldenwood patrols. But Theli was an adult elf, and had the right to take a leave of absence from his job as a healer to go visit relatives if he wanted to.

 

Some time later, Thranduil heard that Theli had gone to Dol Amroth. Which wasn’t unprecedented, given that Theli’s cousins Orophin and Rumil had fought with the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth for a time, and Theli with them. Thranduil worried over that a little, because some elves didn’t need but to see the sea, to find within them the need to sail for the West. But Theli had been in Dol Amroth for years before near the beginning of the Third Age without hearing the call of the West, and it wasn’t really Thranduil’s business, anyway. He did appreciate the favorable trading terms and agreements that Dol Amorth extended to the Greenwood on the basis of Theli’s having made friends with Prince Angelimir of Dol Amroth and his family. But Thranduil had too much to do to think of the matter very often. 

 

Thranduil had firmly meant for Theli’s expulsion from the military to be permanent. But then the Siege of the Wood had continued. It was a war of attrition. And despite the best that Thranduil and his commanders and his Council could do, it was one that they were barely managing not to lose. They simply didn’t have enough elves. They couldn’t afford to spare the willing service of a capable soldier, not when he was also one of the Greenwood’s best battlefield healers.

 

That point was brought home to Thranduil when he nearly lost Legolas and one of Legolas’ fellow soldiers to injuries sustained during a difficult retreat near their old home in Emyn Duir. Their patrol’s soldier-healer had been killed earlier in the action, and Legolas and his comrade nearly died without having a healer there who knew to use the anti-coagulant poisons to slow their bleeding and put in temporary stitches until he could get them to a place of sufficient safety to apply the proper antidotes and stitch and bandage them properly. It had actually been Theli, on his way back from a visit to Dol Amroth to work with human healers there, who had fortuitously run into Legolas’ patrol and stabilized Thranduil’s son and his fellow soldier.

 

The orcs used hundreds of different poisons to coat their arrows and blades. And the chemical composition of the giant spiders’ venom differed depending on their age and where they had been hatched. The teeth of the wargs were always coated with dangerous bacteria. Some healers could keep all of those different poisons in their heads, and remember not only which antidotes and treatments went with them, but also which could be applied on the run and which had to wait until they were at a safe camp or even the antiseptic environment of the Hall itself. Theli was one of those soldier-healers, and Thranduil – and Thranduil’s army - needed him. 

 

And Thranduil had directed that Theli put in Legolas’ unit, under Legolas’ command, because he wanted his son to live more than he wanted to continue to vent his anger with Theli. And Theli was not only one of the better of Greenwood’s healer-soldiers; he was also the one that Legolas was most likely to listen to.

 

Theli had fought under Legolas’ command for several dozen years, before abruptly and reluctantly asking for a leave of absence not many years ago. The reason given by his captain to the general was battle-sickness, and that seemed consistent with what Thranduil had seen of Theli not long after he took that leave. Theli had refused to take the half-pay that Greenwood’s army mandated for soldiers who left active duty due to battle-sickness, but Thranduil had quietly directed that he be given it anyway. Thranduil had suffered from battle-sickness himself after the War of the Last Alliance, and he knew it wasn’t something that a soldier could control. Nor was it something that a solider should be dealing with and continuing to fight. By doing so, he would have endangered all of his comrades. And besides, it wasn’t as if Theli paid attention to how much money he did or didn’t have. 

 

But now, Thranduil found himself wanting Theli back by Legolas’ side, once again. It was in part because Theli was one of their best healers.

 

And he was something else, besides. Thranduil had tried his best to place Legolas with commanders who would be able to predict his son’s good-hearted but at times reckless impulses, and stop him from following through on them in time to keep him safe. Even if stopping Legolas involved restraining him physically or knocking him unconscious. 

 

But, as with the young Thranduil, it was impossible for even the wisest and swiftest commander to always prevent Legolas from following through on his valiant and kind instincts. And Theli was the only soldier in his entire army whom Thranduil could trust to follow Legolas into whatever danger he was determined to risk, without wasting time trying to stop him if it would be more dangerous to do so. Theli had been involved in similar foolish but brave feats in his youth. Once, when describing why he knew not to try to grab Legolas and haul him to safety when Legolas was leaping off of a cliff, Theli had explained to Thranduil, his general, and several captains that:

 

“You had to have jumped off that cliff before, to know that Legolas was doing it exactly right, and that grabbing him would have been more likely to queer his jump and harm him in the landing than secure him and bring him back.”

 

And that . . . that was the reason that Thranduil was here today. Even though he hadn’t realized it until this very moment.

 

“That foray . . . through the Northmen’s and the Ironbeard’s lands. After the slavers,” Thranduil began slowly, “That wasn’t your idea, was it, Theli?”

 

Theli stilled, and then said carefully, “It was my command. It was me who decided to try to rescue the captives, even though they were beyond our borders. I was the one who ordered my soldiers, your soldiers, to follow me.”

 

“And if you hadn’t,” Thranduil asked gently, “What would have happened?”

 

Eyes the deep, dark blue of the sky at midnight on a moon-lit night regarded Thranduil thoughtfully, and then after over a minute of silence, Theli finally answered, “If – as I think you are suggesting – one of my soldiers had indicated that he would go off on his own after the captives, and that I’d have to tie him up and drug him insensible to stop him, and that I might even have to suppress the potential mutiny that he would resort to in order to see his aims through – even then, the command was still mine, Aran-nin.”

 

“I see,” said Thranduil carefully, “Although it took me much longer than it should have, in order to see the matter clearly.”

 

Theli shrugged, “It was my command, Aran-nin. You and our general gave it to me. I made my decisions, and I don’t regret what I did, save that it was against your will.”

 

“And you didn’t think to warn anyone, about . . . that soldier. And what he might have done?” Thranduil asked tightly.

 

Theli smiled faintly, “That soldier’s father knows him. And that soldier’s captain knows – and knew – that soldier’s father. It wouldn’t take anyone by surprise.”

 

“You only took volunteers on that rescue mission, didn’t you,” Thranduil mused, now putting more of the pieces together, “You asked for volunteers, and only then did you give orders consistent with what your elves – and Men – were willing to do.”

 

Now Theli looked hurt, “You didn’t realize that I’d asked for volunteers before ordering anyone into unknown territory like that?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil offered, and he was, “That, I should have known. But you still deserved everything that you got, you know.” Although that wasn’t entirely true, Thranduil acknowledged with a pang of guilt. Theli shouldn’t have been birched, or at least should not have received anywhere near the maximum number of strokes permitted under Army rules. And he certainly hadn’t deserved the anger of other elves for having risked the crown prince and dozens of other elven soldiers on such a chancy venture. Thanduil had put a stop to overt demonstrations of that last, of course. 

 

“I know that I deserved it,” Theli agreed, making Thranduil worry about how little the younger elf seemed to value his own self, before Theli continued, “The ultimate decision was mine, no matter what one soldier would have done.”

 

“And what would you have done?” Thranduil asked intently, “If you hadn’t had that one soldier.”

 

Theli shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

 

Thranduil laughed harshly, “Yes, you do.”

 

With a sigh, Theli admitted, “Only three of our Men were even familiar with the terrain we were proposing to travel over. I myself hadn’t been to visit the Ironbeards except once, and that was long ago. I would have sent the messenger birds to the Hall, the Northmen, and the Ironbeards, and took my patrol back to Esgaroth. Instead I sent the birds, sent a force back to the Hall, took my volunteers forward, and just made sure that we scouted ahead cursed carefully and with enough of a time gap before moving the main force to fall back cursed fast if we had to.” 

 

“You protected everyone there from damage to their careers and reputations,” Thranduil marveled, “and trusted that I would not punish you too harshly for it.”

 

Theli shrugged again, and then smiled and answered impudently, “Your abiding tolerance for me is well-known, Aran-nin.” 

 

“And very lucky indeed for you,” Thranduil answered, with a wry smile.

 

“Yes,” Theli agreed.

 

“I am surprised,” Thranduil said sardonically, “that Legolas did not confess to me whose idea that potential disaster had been.”

 

“He promised not to,” Theli explained softly, “He promised, and so did the others. You had given me so many young, promising officers, with perfect records. The future of our army, of your army. And then there was me.”

 

Theli looked up at Thranduil and smiled uncertainly, “I already had a very checkered record.”

 

“To say the least,” Thranduil drawled.

 

Theli nodded back to him, “Just so. And everyone believed it of me, that I’d do what I did, and that it had been my idea.”

 

When Thranduil didn’t reply, Theli added, “I’m sure that if execution or sailing or something awful was truly on the table, that . . . certain soldiers, would have spoken up. But I trusted you, and trusted that it wouldn’t be. And I was right.”

 

“Yes, you were right,” Thanduil agreed. Then he took a deep breath, and thought about Legolas and his youth and optimism. And his recklessness. And he thought about how smart and fast his son was, and how smart and fast Thranduil himself had been at Legolas’ age. Thranduil thought about how he had been blessed with best friends and guards and a large group of family and friends who had done their best to keep up with him, without the distraction of a realm at war, and how they had still sometimes failed.

 

Thranduil thought also about what he’d have to do, to maintain his authority as King, if his son truly did commit treason, and in an even more flagrant fashion than he’d done when Theli had obscured the issue and taken the responsibility, and the punishment, in Legolas’ stead. 

 

Thranduil thought about all of that, and then he asked, “I want you to rejoin the army, and serve in the same unit as Legolas again. I want you beside him when he goes into combat. Any time that he goes into combat.” Thranduil left unspoken that his last directive included even those times when Legolas went into combat without support or permission.

 

Theli straightened up on his stool and considered that for a moment, his cobalt blue eyes distant as he thought. After a minute or so, he nodded.

 

Thranduil took a sigh of relief, then nodded back. “I would never execute my son, or make him sail,” he said, “The worst I would allow to be done to him would be a temporary exile to Lothlorien or Imladris.”

 

“I know,” said Theli, with a fond smile, “You’re a good father.”

 

Thranduil smiled bitterly, “Who is even now considering what I might have to do if my own son commits treason, thereby recognizing my failings as a father. My failure to be able to reason with him, and support him no matter what.”

 

“Thranduil,” Theli began sternly, “I know bad fathers. I had one. He wasn’t a bad elf, but after my mother died birthing me, he let himself drift away in a haze of herbs and wine. And I know bad grandfathers – I have – I had, one of those, too.” Theli lifted his hand and touched the top of his right cheekbone, across which went a thin white scar, about two inches in length, “He gave me this, to mark me for death if I ever came back to what had once been my home. He condemned me to permanent exile, merely for leaving home. When I came to him as a refuge of last resort when I had a dying comrade in my arms, he helped me, because my grandmother made him. But then he cut me, with his knife coated in a potion so that the scar would never fully fade. And he told me - and all of his people – that if I ever returned again, I would be slain.”

 

“I remember,” said Thranduil, his heart in his throat, “I was there. My son Thalion was that wounded elf. But you never told me, not until afterward, what you were risking, by going back.”

 

Thranduil fixed Theli with a very firm look, “I do not want anything like that to happen again. If you aren’t able to rejoin my army, if you are still battle-sick – then I do not want you to fight for me again. Not until you are well.”

 

“I’m a healer, Thranduil,” Theli said, clearly a little offended, “and I’m not stupid. I’m well enough to fight again without getting lost in my own head. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t.”

 

“Let me know if that changes,” Thranduil commanded, “It will not be held against you. You have my word, for that.”

 

“I don’t need it,” Theli said cheekily, “I know you well enough to know that.”

 

“Impudent brat,” Thranduil scolded, but he was smiling as he said it.

 

“No, just confident,” Theli contradicted, then grinned again, “You know, I think that Master Nestorion and Brenn and most of the others expected you to smack me, or something.”

 

In part because Theli had called him “stubbornly stupid,” and in part because he’d conspired to mislead Thranduil about the circumstances of that dangerous foray, all those years ago, and also in part because Theli was out of fighting fit, and Thranduil wanted him to be very aware of how quickly he had to shake the dust off, the King smiled dangerously, and said, “Well, I’d hate to disappoint their expectations.”

 

Theli’s deep blue eyes only had time to widen slightly before Thranduil had hooked a foot underneath the bottom of the stool the healer was sitting on and yanked it out from under him. Theli yelped in surprise and went flying, although he did take care to shove the potentially dangerous chemicals out of the way. He didn’t try hard enough to get himself out of the way, since Thranduil managed to pin Theli up against the table, tilt his front half downward to rest on the table, and begin to apply a series of firm, stinging swats against his backside without Theli managing to do anything more defensive than kicking and yelling in protest. Through leggings, tunic, and his thoroughly stained alchemist’s robe, Thranduil doubted that he was really making that much of an impression. But Theli was at least paying attention!

 

“Ow! Ow! Oww!,” Theli complained as the sharp swats landed on his rear, “That wasn’t – ow! – a suggestion! Ow!”

 

Either the sound of the stool flying across the room or Theli’s rather loud complaints must have drawn Master Nestorion’s attention. He opened the door, his expression of concern fading to mild surprise and then bemusement. 

 

Thranduil didn’t pause in heating up the younger elf’s bottom. Although Thranduil didn’t blame Nestorion for his surprise. Having been taken to task so many times himself as a young elf, on no few occasions by Master Nestorion, Thranduil had little fondness for handing out spankings. He personally dealt with his own children’s misdeeds when appropriate, of course, and sometimes with the foolishness of his younger cousins, but it was rare for the King to otherwise hand out a spanking to one of his elves. It was the type of thing he normally delegated, if it was really necessary.

 

Theli did not seem to appreciate the personal royal attention, in this case.

 

“Ow!” Theli objected, then noticing Nestorion’s presence, he appealed, “Master Nestorion! Tell Thranduil to stop!”

 

Nestorion sighed, “Are you sure that you didn't do something to deserve it, tithen nestor? 

 

Thranduil wasn’t about to go into most of what they’d discussed. So far as he was concerned, some of it would remain at the level of a state secret. But he felt that it was fine to tell Nestorion, “Theli did call me stupid.”

 

“Stubbornly stupid!” Theli corrected, “Ow! And you are!”

 

This time Nestorion shook his head and sighed, before telling Theli sternly, “You really do bring these things on yourself, Ecthelion.”

 

“Not on purpose!” Theli protested, now giving getting away at least a half-decent effort. Thranduil decided to take pity on him, and let him go. After one final, slightly harder slap to the healer’s likely well-warmed backside, Thranduil lifted him up then put him back down on his feet.

 

Theli’s face was blushing up a storm, but Thranduil was relieved to see that his eyes were free of tears. His hands, though, immediately flew to his bottom to commence trying to rub the sting away. Thranduil had to chuckle a little at that, which earned him a pouting, offended glance from Theli even as he was still trying to ease the burn away.

 

“Oh, that wasn’t even a proper spanking,” Thranduil told the sulking healer, although he stopped short of accusing Theli of overdramatizing his reaction. The only other physical punishment that Thranduil had ever seen Theli receive was the semi-public birching he’d taken as part of his punishment for the incident he’d also been expelled from the military for, and the poor elf had yelped, then howled, then wailed and wept his way through that. Some elves were just more sensitive to pain. It didn’t make them weaker.

 

“It really wasn’t,” Nestorion pointed out to Theli mildly, when the younger elf seemed like he might protest again, “And an apology might be in order, Ecthelion.”

 

Theli gave Thranduil a narrow-eyed stare, then sniffed and said, “I’m sorry that I called you stupid.”

 

“What a stunningly gracious apology,” said Thranduil sarcastically, although he was more amused than displeased, “You give me no choice but to accept it.”

 

Theli huffed disgustedly, then set to fixing the bottles that he’d jostled out of the way instead of trying to protect himself.

 

Thranduil watched him patiently for a moment, then, once Theli seemed satisfied with whatever was left of his experiment, Thranduil called to him, “Theli. Be on the practice courts, tonight, an hour after dinner ends.”

 

“But I have work to do,” the younger elf complained, “Do you realize how far you just set me back by spilling the boiled purple root?”

 

“Not that far at all,” said Nestorion wryly, “Given that we have plenty of it. Stop being difficult, Theli.”

 

Turning to Thranduil, Nestorion asked, “Although I don’t know if it would really be good for Theli to be back at swordplay quite this soon, Aran-nin. He has blisters on his hands from practicing last night. And, at the moment, he is not even in the army.”

 

Thranduil raised an eye at Theli, then nodded towards his hands.

 

Theli rolled his eyes, but did take off the gloves he’d been wearing for his experiments. Then he turned his palms upward, and held them out for Thranduil’s inspection.

 

The King carefully looked them over, noting that the blisters didn’t look too painful, and were even now in the process of subsiding. Nodding to himself, Thranduil ordered, “Wear gloves. And don’t be late.”

 

Theli nodded back, and even gave Thranduil a cheeky smile, “I bet that I’m not as rusty as you expect that I am.”

 

“From that performance,” Thranduil drawled, with a nod towards the bench and the stool on the other side of the room, “I think that I’ll take you up on that. What odds are you offering, mellon-nin?”

 

It was the first time that Thranduil had named Theli his friend since that nearly disastrous foray several centuries ago. Theli gave him another grin, “If I win, you pay for the extra tart berries I need to be imported from Imladris.”

 

“Why am I unsurprised that the place where my cousin Elladan works has an excess of fire causing materials . . .,” Thranduil mused aloud, then consented, “Fine. And if you’re as bad as I’m expecting?”

 

“I’ll hand my experiments over to Brenn, and spend all of the next week bringing my arms skills as much back up to par as possible,” Theli promised, with a light in his eyes that told Thranduil that he’d be doing that anyway, win or lose. The King was touched, not for the first time but for the first time in a long while, by the depth of dedication that Theli had shown to him, and to Legolas. Theli loved being a healer, and making new potions. There had never been any doubt about that. And he was giving most of that up, again, for Legolas. Thranduil made a vow to himself that Theli – or rather the alchemists – would get whatever incendiary ingredients they needed from Imladris, no matter who won their bet.

 

“Fine,” Thranduil agreed aloud, and then added, “And thank you.”

 

Theli nodded, and then replied, “That goes both ways. I know that there were many who never wanted me back in the army at all, and some of them had good reason for it.”

 

“Excuse me,” Nestorion interrupted, “What is this about you rejoining the Army, Ecthelion? Are you even ready for that? And did anyone consider that your doing so would leave me short-staffed?”

 

“I’m fine. I’ve had plenty of time to rest. And no, it won’t,” Theli told his supervisor indulgently, “You have more help than you need this winter, anyway, with Colleryn here from Lothlorien visiting her family. That’s why you’ve given me so much time to go and play with the alchemists.”

 

“Will you really be short-staffed, Nesta?” Thranduil asked, taken aback.

 

Master Nestorion sighed, and confessed, “No, not really, although I will miss Theli if we have to conduct more than a few complicated surgeries simultaneously, or if we have any particularly tricky cases of poisoning. But fortunately, such circumstances are rare. It is more that I do not like sending any of the young elves whom I love off to war.”

 

Nestorion’s fond gaze made it clear that he was including Thranduil as well as Theli in that category.

 

“We’ll be safe as we can be, Nestorion, I promise you that,” said Thranduil.

 

“I know that you always do your best to keep your elves safe, Thranduil, although I do worry about you yourself,” Nestorion said with fond exasperation, before issuing an invitation “I’m having tea sent up to my office. Why don’t you both come sit down and share it with me before you head off to your other endeavors?”

 

“I’d like that, Nesta,” Thranduil agreed, willing to spare half an hour if it assuaged Nestorion’s concerns at all.

 

“Thank you, Master, for the invitation,” Theli said, “I’ll come if I can stand.”

 

Nestorion shook his head fondly at that, but Thranduil had to protest again, “That wasn’t even a proper spanking!”

 

“How would you know?” Theli asked, “You weren’t on the receiving end!”

 

“Well, next time you’ll dodge quicker, won’t you?”

 

“And risk spilling my ingredients? I don’t think so!” Theli spluttered indignantly.

 

Thranduil laughed, “Very well, how about, if I’m satisfied with how you progress in this next week, I won’t ever try to spank you again in the alchemy labs?”

 

“Deal,” said Theli happily, while Master Nestorion shook his head at the both of them.


	29. It's Called Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treason can be very tempting when you are a great King’s heir, and your opinion on some issue of towering importance differs from his. Faramir knows this, but Legolas sometimes forgets, even though he is far more experienced than Faramir when it comes to committing treason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This story takes place not long “True Colors” which itself takes place directly after “Temper, and Time,” chapter 9 of the Tales of the Greenwood, which are both available here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/1128331
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> Quote:
> 
>  
> 
> “You could say [that they] owe me a few favors, except that so many favors have passed between us now that they are no longer distinguishable as individual acts, just a bright haze of loyalty. Our friendship is a nebula.” ― Robin Sloan, Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore 
> 
>  
> 
> “Unlike the puerile loyalty to a conviction, loyalty to a friend is a virtue - perhaps the only virtue, the last remaining one.” ― Milan Kundera, Encounter

Prologue: Minas Tirith, Fourth Age, Guest Apartments in King’s House 

There were times when Legolas Thranduilon, Prince and settlement leader and officer, knew that he was behaving like a viperish blockhead, and a lousy friend to boot. He knew, but he just couldn’t help himself. He’d blame this tendency in himself on his father, who sometimes lashed out in temper, but Thranduil’s meanness was hardly ever so calculated as the barbs that Legolas would let loose with when he was in one of his rare deeply foul moods. And Legolas’ father almost always had the excuse of being well and truly furious when he said cruel things, and would most often quickly regret them. 

Legolas, well . . . his anger would simmer, and simmer, and then, at some point when whoever had offended him was around, would boil over and well and truly sear that unfortunate person. Emotionally speaking, of course. Not that Legolas was opposed to the idea of putting his dear friend and newest sworn-brother Faramir of Ithilien and Gondor, back over his knee and further adding to the heat his backside must already be feeling. Or so Legolas guessed, based on Faramir’s consistent reluctance to sit anywhere, except when in the presence of his children or at meal times, and even then he couldn’t help squirming a bit. 

And Legolas also knew that part of Faramir’s punishment from his father Aragorn for continuing his unacceptably dangerous duties as a Gondorian spy in Harad was to go to each adult member of his extended family, and ask them, politely, to give him a paddling. 

Aragorn had even thoughtfully supplied the paddle, an exact duplicate of what was infamously known, within the Dol Amroth family, as “Adrahil’s paddle.” Its appearance, Legolas knew from when the blushing Faramir had offered its use to him three nights ago, was more curious than intimidating. The business end of the thin maple paddle was only medium sized, and did not look so frightening. The handle of Adrahil’s paddle, though, was oddly shaped. It was curved, whereas the handles of most paddles continued straight in the same direction as the paddle. 

Faramir, his face burning, had explained to his audience of the amused Legolas and Gimli that the unique shape of the handle allowed for a sharper angle and a faster swat, which magnified the sting of the instrument. 

“Have you felt this for yourself?” Legolas had inquired of Faramir that night, holding the paddle in his hands and turning it over curiously. 

“Not until the night before last,” Faramir had answered, his left hand twitching as if he wanted to rub his sore rear end in memory. 

Legolas hadn’t bothered to hide a smile at the sight of his normally dignified oath-brother behaving in such a juvenile fashion. But he had ended up putting the paddle down, not without some reluctance. Despite his relative youth amongst his people, Legolas had become experienced at doling out corporal punishment from his years as an officer in his father’s army. And he’d even had some practice at it from when he had served as a low-ranked soldier in the mixed human/elven patrol guarding the areas around the borders between Esgaroth and the Greenwood, as some of the human members of that patrol had been much younger and more prone to errors than himself. 

And one of the things that Legolas had learned was not to use an implement without first having learned how. Legolas had never actually paddled anyone before, as switches and birches had been more common as instruments of correction in the Wood. So Legolas wouldn’t have used an unfamiliarly shaped paddle on anyone’s hide without having gotten a chance to practice with it first, let alone on Faramir’s. 

“No, I don’t think so, gwador-laes,” Legolas had said to the offer of the paddle in his sweetest, most irritating tone, as if calling Faramir his ‘baby’ sworn brother wasn’t bad enough, “Instead, I’d like you to go out into the garden and cut me a switch. No, two of them.”

Faramir had stared at him in silent shock for a moment. Then he had protested, “But, Legolas, someone might see me cutting the switches, or carrying them back here!” 

To add insult to injury – because Legolas was still very, very angry with his dear young oath-brother – he laughed merrily. “Oh, I do hope so, Faramir,” he told Ithlien’s other Prince heartlessly, “It is late enough at night that all of the children are abed. And it is custom that only the King’s family, guests and immediate household enjoy the King’s garden in the moonlight. So, anyone who sees you walking over to the birches or the willows, cutting the branches, trimming them, and then carrying them back,” Legolas continued, carefully detailing each step of the process, “will be an adult member of your family, and will know that the switches you are so carefully cutting and then carrying back are about to be used to thoroughly stripe your disobedient, reckless, treasonous backside.” 

“Legolas,” Gimli had cautioned, “Treason is a bit too far . . .” 

“No, it isn’t,” both Legolas and Faramir had disagreed, at the same time. Startled, the two princes had looked at one another. 

It was Faramir, who proudly admitted to being a scholar whereas Legolas preferred to hide that aspect of his personality, who explained, “While the first definition of treason, the most commonly thought of one, is attempting by overt acts to overthrow the government of one’s kingdom, or to personally injure the King or his kin, there is a less common definition of the crime that is nonetheless encompassed by the laws of Gondor, and of Arnor, as I understand them.” 

“And by the laws of the Greenwood,” Legolas interrupted, “and that definition of treason simply is ‘the betrayal of a trust.’ Which certainly applies, does it not, Faramir?” 

“It does,” Faramir admitted regretfully, “And Ada argues that the first definition applies, as well, although his interpretation is rather labored. He claims that I attempted by overt acts to personally injure a member of the King’s immediate family – myself.” 

Legolas laughed delightedly at that, and gave it his support, “That seems fair enough to me.” 

Faramir gave him an arch look, complete with a raised brow. 

“That makes you look like your Ada,” Legolas told him fondly. 

“If you say so, Legolas,” Faramir conceded with a bemused smile, “but my point is that both you and Gimli have committed treason, too, at least by that second definition of it. And some of your past acts, Legolas, would likely fall within my Ada’s tortured interpretation of the first kind of treason, as well. So I think that it’s a little rich of you to be giving me a lecture about it.” 

Legolas glared at his friend for a moment, then directed, “Just go get your switches, Faramir.” When Faramir rolled his eyes at that, Legolas had added peevishly, “And I do hope that you get seen while you’re doing it.” 

“Cruel, gwador, cruel,” Faramir had complained. 

“No, Faramir,” Legolas had said firmly, “Risking your life for years without telling your family about it was cruel. Me asking you to fetch a switch when there’s every likelihood that some member of the family is going to witness it and draw the logical conclusion is just . . . impish.” 

“More orcish,” Faramir had corrected with an irritated frown, still blushing fantastically. 

Legolas had crooked a finger at his younger sworn brother the Steward of Gondor, urging him closer. 

Faramir had sighed, but obeyed. 

When he reached Legolas, the elven Prince turned Faramir about, swiftly applied three firm swats to his bottom, and then whirled him back around, “And that was for hesitating and back talk,” Legolas informed him, “Now, do we have to talk about it anymore, or are you ready to go fetch your switches?” 

“What our Legolas isn’t saying,” Gimli put in, half kindly, and half somewhat impishly himself, “Is that I reddened his backside well and thoroughly, for having gone after you like a hound after a hare when first he heard that you were missing.” 

It was Faramir’s turn to not bother to suppress a pleased smile at Legolas’ blush. 

“Oh, really?” the Steward teased, and then almost immediately turned apologetic, “Oh, Legolas. I am sorry that you felt inspired to do that for me.” 

“Of course I did, my foolish baby brother,” Legolas chided, pulling Faramir into a tight embrace, “I’d do anything for you, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he added, after pulling away far enough to meet Faramir’s slate-gray eyes, which were just the same shade as Aragorn’s, “When we spent that sunny day in Ithilien not long after the war, and I swore to be your brother for all of your life, it was no idle oath, Faramir,” Legolas assured him, “Nor did you hesitate to follow me into the ruins of Emyn Duir, despite its being infested by barrow-wights!”

“Well we didn’t know that ahead of time,” Faramir pointed out, always determined to be fair no matter what. 

Legolas hugged him again for it, “You’re so pedantic, baby brother. It’s part of what I love about you. Now go cut your switches.” 

“Gimli, do you . . . should I cut a switch for you, as well?” Faramir asked unhappily. But despite that unhappiness and embarrassment, Faramir was, again, dutiful and determined to follow his beloved father’s orders to the letter. That was something else that Legolas loved in him. And admired, as well. 

“No, Faramir lad,” Gimli answered pleasantly, “I won’t need a switch. My hand will do just fine. And it had best be tomorrow, I think. Or even the day after. Unless you’ve already got another appointment then?” the dwarf asked, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“Ah, no,” Faramir answered, the flames on his face burning even more brightly, “Adar has said that I might approach whom I wish in whatever order and time period, given that I don’t, ah, over do, or ah, drag my feet. And given that I knew how upset Legolas was, I came here. And with you here, as well, it . . . ah, it just seemed easier to ah, to only explain once.” Faramir finished, still blushing. 

“I would think so, yes,” said Legolas, with a teasing smile, “I must admit that it made me feel better when you presented yourself to us with such a charming blush, with paddle in hand, and asked us so nicely for our help in learning not to do disobedient and dangerous things.” 

“Thank you ever so much, both of you,” Faramir said wryly, still blushing, “With friends like you . . .” 

Before Aragorn’s son could finish his sentence, Gimli, whom he was closer to, stopped him with a solid swat to his hindquarters, which, to Legolas’ amusement, made Faramir stand up on his tip toes, and even bring his hands behind him in an attempt to protect himself from further such swats. 

“With friends and brothers like us, my fine young man,” Gimli said, firmly but kindly, “Perhaps you’ll learn better than doing such foolish things, eh?” 

“I . . . I think so, Gimli,” Faramir managed, only removing his hands from their protective position once Gimli had nodded his approval. It was so different from Faramir’s normal dignified and imperturbable behavior that Legolas had decided to take pity on him instead of verbally tormenting him further, even if he did deserve it. 

“Go on and fetch me your switches, gwador-laes,” Legolas had encouraged Faramir, “If you hesitate much longer, I might just ask you for three.” 

Faramir had ducked his head and laughed at that. Then he brought his eyes back up to meet Legolas’, and said, fondly and certainly, “No, you wouldn’t.” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Legolas agreed, “But I’m not opposed to stretching out the warm-up part of your spanking, or applying a few swats at the end on top of your stripes. So, move expeditiously. But make sure that you pick and prepare the switches well, I know that you know how,” Legolas teased, referring to the time when Faramir and four of his friends had gotten fantastically drunk in Ithlien and then gone hunting for some mysterious creature that the locals told them had been stealing sheep. It had turned out to be two trolls, venturing out from a tunnel which led all the way back to Minas Morgul. 

Faramir and his friends had been lucky to survive, and Aragorn had made sure that they all knew it. Legolas had felt a bit badly for all four men and the one elf at the time, but still, all five of their blushing backsides bent over a fallen tree, bare to the breeze and the full moon above, had been quite a humorous sight. Aragorn had jested about how Ithilien that night had boasted one white moon above, and also five red moons below! 

Faramir and his four companions hadn’t found that jest at all funny, but Legolas and the Elrondionnath hadn’t been able to keep from laughing. And Glorfindel and Aragorn’s friend Ethiron hadn’t even tried. 

After Legolas’ urging to go get his switches the night that Faramir came to them for punishment, Faramir had started moving towards the door at a good clip. But once out of easy reach of both Legolas and Gimil, he had added, “And I know that you know how to pick and prepare a good switch as well, ‘Las-nin, from when your Adar ordered you to do so outside of Emyn Duir.” 

Legolas had found himself laughing in fond – and somewhat proud – outrage. Faramir might be in no end of trouble with his entire family and all of his friends, but he was far from cowed! 

“You were right there beside me, gwador-laes,” Legolas had cheerfully reminded Faramir, “With Theli applying stripes to your backside while Ada applied them to mine. And I’m just as good as either of them at making sure that a switching is memorable.” Legolas might not be, really, but how was Faramir supposed to know that? 

With a put-upon sigh, the Prince of Ithilien had gone out to the King’s Garden to cut and trim his switches. And Legolas had taken a deep breath to calm himself, determined not to take out his temper on Faramir’s hide. Well, not in more than a carefully measured manner, at least. He’d already blistered his younger sworn brother’s ears once before, besides that night. Another lecture wouldn’t hurt Faramir at all, in Legolas’ opinion. And, several days after giving Faramir that memorable switching – even though he’d only used one switch – Legolas was prepared to give scorching his friend’s ears another go. 

Legolas still couldn’t believe that Faramir had almost died, that they’d almost lost him, so long after the Ring War had ended. Eowyn had nearly lost her husband, and become a widow, at the ridiculous age of thirty and one years of age! Thirty and one, and almost a widow with three small children! Not to mention the regent of Ithilien for likely the entire eighteen remaining years of their son Elboron’s minority. And meanwhile, the job of Steward-Regent had been ably but mournfully filled by Faramir’s uncle Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth. 

Poor Imrahil had been doubly grieved, for his youngest son Amrothos had been believed lost at sea after refusing to abandon his sinking ship following a battle with pirates. After the battle both of the two pirate ships, as well as Amrothos’ vessel, had looked likely to go down with all hands. Amrothos had ordered the two other ships of his fleet to retreat before storm winds on top of battle-harm fatally sunk them, too. And then Amrothos had refused to abandon his ship before all of his men got off, which feat simply wasn’t possible given the strong winds and high waves. 

And then, five months after Amrothos and his few remaining sailors had been presumed dead, and six months after Faramir had simply disappeared whilst illicitly spying in Harad, a ship sailing up the Anduin had raised two additional flags. Already the graceful vessel had been flying the flag of the Princes of Dol Amroth, differenced by the insignia for a second son. That had informed Minas Tirith that Prince Erchirion himself, Imrahil’s middle son and the admiral of his entire navy, was coming in person to Minas Tirith. Given that Erchirion had only ever come so far inland himself once before, and it had been just the previous year to tell his father Imrahil of his youngest son’s presumed death, that flag in and of itself was notable. 

Just as Erchirion’s ship passed the last bend before coming into sight of Minas Tirith, two additional flags were raised. That of the Princes of Dol Amroth, as differenced by the labels for a third son – Amrothos. And the flag of the Prince of Ithilien and natural son of the King of Gondor and Arnor – Faramir’s flag. 

And Erchirion had delivered on his promises made in pageantry. After the touching, almost overwhelmingly emotional moments of reunion on the docks, Erchirion had ruefully, bemusedly told his father and other the assembled kin and kith, “I decided to stop at that little rocky island straight out about fifty leagues from Tolfalas. You know, the one that isn’t even on our maps but that we keep goats and chickens and fruit trees and supply stores on?” 

Holding Amrothos at his side with one arm, Imrahil had skeptically asked, “The one that is located exactly on the previously unmarked spot on Aragorn’s table map where little Mithiriel used her brightest wax stick to draw a circle around? And then would not stop re-drawing her circle in exactly the same place, no matter what other prize we offered to distract her and try to keep her from further marking up Aragorn’s expensive table map?” 

“Aye, exactly there,” Erchirion agreed, “and it was a long-shot, but I thought, well . . . Aunt Finduilas’ granddaughter, you know. And it felt . . . right, to stop there.” 

Most of their family and friends were so overjoyed at having their lost sheep returned to the fold that the issue passed without much notice. 

But little Eldarion did pipe up to complain, “Baby Miri kept stealing my troubadour soldier, and putting him on the red circles she made on Ada’s map. Which none of us are even allowed to touch! And my troubadour’s boots are permanently stained red now.” 

“Now, Eldarion yonya,” Arwen remonstrated gently, “We do try our best to keep your fragile toys away from the babes who are too young to know not to color and chew on them. But you know that you must share your toys with your niece and nephew and friends who are old enough to appreciate them. 

Faramir and Eowyn’s oldest child Theodwyn nodded emphatically in agreement with her beloved step-grandmother’s decree, her shoulder-length strawberry blond curls bobbing up and down. 

Eldarion stuck his tongue out at his half-niece, but a look from his mother was enough to forestall further retribution. 

“The troubadour was your favorite toy solider when you were a lad, wasn’t he, Faramir?” Aragorn asked fondly, ignoring the borderline misbehavior from his heir. 

“He was, Ada,” Faramir confirmed, “And I’m surprised that you even remember that. I think I only told it to you once.” 

“I treasure every bit of information about your childhood, ion-nin, since I have so very little,” Aragorn chided lightly, “And I remember almost everything you tell me.” 

Faramir, who was not generally given to outward signs of being intimidated, openly winced. 

“Yes,” Aragorn said with love but also a threat in his tone, “We are going to have a series of very long talks about all of the things you didn’t say, or allowed me to believe incorrectly. Many talks, my very dearly beloved first-born son.” 

Faramir winced again, but was foolish enough to dispute, “Incompletely, Ada. Never inaccurately.” 

“Please do keep adding to your tab, Faramir,” Aragorn invited, his heather-gray eyes meeting his son’s directly. 

Faramir sighed, and conceded the point with a nod. 

“In any case,” Erchirion returned to his story, “I thought, why not make a stop by the little island? Check that it hadn’t been devoured by the more violent than usual stormy season . . .” 

“No, it wasn’t, thank the Valar,” Amrothos pointed out with a grin. Then he ducked out from under his father’s arm and poured another goblet of wine for himself, and for his and Faramir’s – and now Aragorn’s – honored hostage, Mirza Khay’ri, the only son and heir of the Emir of Far Harad. 

“But it was a very near thing, at times, Mirza Erchirion,” the shy and uncertain Khay’ri explained. 

“And every time the tides came up past the tree line, we had to make sure that everyone was in the one cave that didn’t flood, including all the pirate slavers,” Faramir added, “so that didn’t make for restful days and nights.” 

Prince Khay’ri, whom Legolas thought couldn’t possibly be older than nineteen, couldn’t repress a shudder.

Amrothos put a comforting hand on Khay’ri’s shoulder. Faramir looked like he wanted to do something similar, but was prevented from moving by Theodwyn and Eldarion beside him, and baby Mithiriel on his lap. Melyanna, the calmest resident of the royal nursery, was content to nurse in her mother’s arms. 

“We were happy to part company with that lot,” Amrothos told his father, meaning the pirate slavers, “And at first I thought that they’d be happy to see the back of us, too. It couldn’t have been comfortable, staying picketed in a pen most of the day for the better part of a year. But then Erchirion got a hold of the most talkative one, and, well, you know Erchirion.” Amrothos fondly rolled his eyes at his famously overprotective older brother. 

“With what that kraken-hole said about you and Faramir and our Haradric friend,” Erchirion practically growled, “He’s lucky that I didn’t knock any of his teeth loose.” 

“And it was one of the nicest things that Nadir ever said to us, too,” Faramir said dryly. 

“You do make the most interesting friends, ion-nin,” Aragorn commented pleasantly, though his voice had a dangerous undertone as he continued, “It’s such a pity that I’d met so few of them before now.” 

“Ah, yes, Ada,” Faramir said, almost wincing again. 

“We’ll have to rectify that,” Aragorn told him sternly. 

“Ah,” said Faramir, “Speaking of interesting, where is Dervorin? I was afraid that he’d be frantic over my being missing by now.” 

“He is still in Harad, searching for news of you,” Aragorn told his son, his tone now gentle and kind and reassuring as he walked over to kneel beside Faramir, “But we’ve had regular word from him. He’s all the way in Umbar, but he’s promised Ethiron that he’s being safe.” 

Faramir’s heather-gray eyes, the same shade as Aragorn’s, had flown open in surprise and concern, “Ada, he ought not be there without support from me or . . .” Faramir trailed off when he saw the stormy look on Aragorn’s face. 

“Put that thought right out of your mind, Faramir-mine,” Aragorn said, his tone as firm as mithril and his face like granite. 

“But . . .” Faramir began to protest, until Eowyn reached over their daughter to lay a hand on her husband’s arm. 

“Later, Faramir,” she urged, “Let Ada Aragorn just be happy to have you home and safe, for a time.” 

Fortunately, Faramir had listened to his wife. But that, that was really what Legolas was still so angry about! The day he’d given Faramir a switching, and still even now, several days later. He was angry that Faramir had dared to think of going back into Harad, of going all the way to Umbar, just after they’d gotten him back safely! 

Legolas knew that Dervorin and Faramir had been friends through thick and thin. He now also knew that they’d created Gondor’s southern spy network together out of practically nothing. And all of that when they’d been just two teenaged rangers charged with information gathering, and choosing to go on something of a lark to see if they could pass as Southron themselves. And Legolas knew that the two considered themselves sworn-brothers just as truly as Legolas considered Aragorn, Gimli, and Faramir his brothers. 

But still, on a simple information gathering trip, Faramir – disguised as a merchant-trader named Faran – had been conscripted into the Haradrim army! And then he’d been ambushed and kidnapped by pirate-slavers along with the other conscripts before he could bribe his way out of conscription. And bribing one’s way out of conscription was apparently a routine thing in Harad that Faramir had done THREE TIMES BEFORE. 

And then Faramir and his fellow captives had staged a mutiny during the attack on the pirate ships by Amrothos’ fleet. Between the Dol Amroth navy attacking them from the sea, and their slaves rioting from beneath the hold, the pirate slaver ship that Faramir and Khay’ri had been on had sank almost immediately. Faramir and Khay’ri and several other strong, able captives had managed to get about another dozen slaves safely off of that ship. And, to no one’s great joy, about an even number of pirates had survived from that ship. The other pirate ship, punctured by the Dol Amroth cannons and then swamped by a giant wave, had gone down with all hands. 

Amrothos’ ship had taken enemy cannon fire, but it had been more sturdily made than the pirate vessels. It had managed to stay afloat long enough to collect Faramir, Khay’ri, the other surviving slaves, and even the surviving pirates. The code of the sea, which not only the Dol Amroth navy and the official Umbaran navy, but also the Khandian navy, all adhered to, required that even enemy combatants be rescued if their ship had been sunk. Even if the rescuees’ immediate destination was irons, and their eventual destination was prison or a headsman’s block, no one was to be left to drown. 

Amrothos’ ship had sunk near the end of the stormy night following the engagement, but two of Amrothos’ life boats had survived the tempest. Luck, and a particularly strong north-westerly breeze, had helped the survivors to row both life boats to the little uncharted island. And there Amrothos, Faramir, Khay’ri, three other Dol Amroth sailors, and four other semi-reliable rescued slaves had been forced to survive together, while maintaining a watch on a dozen pirates and later also several less-reliable rescued slaves who had proved to be willing to go over to the pirates’ side in exchange for a cut of the ransom the pirates had been scheming to collect for Amrothos. They’d had no idea that Faramir and Khay’ri were, in fact, even richer prizes. And Faramir and Khay’ri had continued to call themselves Faran and Khary, in order to avoid having that come to anyone’s attention except that of Amrothos and the Dol Amroth sailors. 

Faramir’s survival was such an incredible tale of luck that Legolas wanted to yell at him for even thinking of going back into Harad. Let alone Umbar, even if Dervorin was there! And yet, Faramir had argued the point with Aragorn not just the once but on several other occasions. 

“Ada, I don’t think you understand just how much more the Oligarch who is indirectly on our pay role esteems me as opposed to Dev,” Faramir had complained, “It wouldn’t take that long. I would go there directly. It was waiting in South Gondor on an informant and a . . . misunderstanding with one of our most valued informants, which got me conscripted in the first place.” 

Aragorn hadn’t even looked up from the petitions he was reviewing, which he also wouldn’t even let Faramir glance at. He just said, “Absolutely not, ion-nin. And I’m going to do you a favor and forget that you asked.”

Faramir, hurt, had protested, “I can’t even ask?” 

Aragorn had finally looked away from his petitions with a sigh. Regarding his first-born son, newly returned to him, with a mixture of exhaustion, love, and utmost frustration, Aragorn had replied, “No, you can ask. You can ask me anything, always. But the answer to this will always and forever be no. But far be it from me to stop you from wasting your own breath, Faramir. That is your right as my son, and always will be.” 

“Thank you ever so much, Adar muin nin,” Faramir had said, with the expression of a man who was contemplating some type of vengeance. 

But Faramir hadn’t entirely given up on getting Aragorn to agree to send him personally to Umbar. Not until word came that Dervorin was safe, and on his way home, along with, as his decoded message said, ‘his Rose, who has at last agreed to bloom in the north.” 

Faramir’s face had transformed in relief, so much had his worries for Dervorin been plaguing him, which had made Legolas forgive him to at least a small extent. Then Faramir had brightened and laughed, somewhat ruefully. Not long afterward, Faramir had pulled Eowyn aside. And Legolas, who had never fully outgrown his youngest elfling’s habit of eavesdropping - how else was he supposed to find out the things that his friends and family carelessly overlooked to share with him? – followed them. 

Legolas had found Faramir and Eowyn in the private garden of the King’s House, chatting and laughing and cuddling together. Someone who wasn’t a wood elf couldn’t have possibly climbed from the open window of the gallery of the King’s House into the tallest of the trees overlooking the garden, and then crept along until he was close enough to hear the couple speaking without being seen or heard. 

“That woman you once told me that you wished to meet, so that you might thank her?” Faramir told Eowyn, his manner and his tone of voice joyful, relieved, and yet at the same time just a touch uncertain, “You know, when first we, ah. Well, when we were getting to know one another well in the House of Healing?” 

“I believe that we got to know one another VERY well in the House of Healing, my love,” Eowyn teased, after stopping her husband’s mouth with a kiss, “So well that had my brother, your new king, or your uncle known how well, we likely would have been betrothed if not married before I even left Gondor to return to Rohan. And don’t think that I didn’t consider telling them how well we’d come to know one another, just to achieve that outcome!” 

Faramir had laughed in reply. Then he’d lifted Eowyn up in his arms, twirled her around, and kissed her soundly. After another few moments, Faramir tried speaking again, “Well, in any case, the woman I told you about then, so that you would know . . .” 

“I didn’t mind, Faramir,” Eowyn assured him, “Of course if I’d met her I would have wanted to threaten her with death if she ever touched you again, but I don’t blame you for it. Or her, either. How could I have? I didn’t even know you when you and she and Dervorin were briefly, ah, all . . . knowing each other well.” 

“Ah, well,” Faramir said, his tone now a mix between rueful, amused, and resigned, “Dervorin is bringing her back to Gondor with him. And marrying her, if he hasn’t already. She’s his Rose. The one and only man or woman he has ever truly loved enough to ask to marry him. At my last count, seventeen times.” 

There were a few moments of silence, presumably while Eowyn absorbed that, and then she replied in a thoughtful manner, “Well, it will be interesting to meet her, and to see what her response is when I thank her for what I’m going to thank her for, specifically for teaching you . . . you know what. And if she’s going to make our brother Dervorin happy, then I will welcome her with open arms.” 

“I’m glad that you feel that way,” Faramir said, with no small amount of relief. 

“But, wise stallion of my heart,” Eowyn cautioned, “If she ever looks at you covetously, I’m going to challenge her to a duel. And I’m not going to stop at first blood.” 

Faramir laughed delightedly, “Be careful, Eowyn! She might well find some way to have Dervorin fight it for her, and you’ve already promised to never humiliate him again. That, or she’d claim the right to choose the weapon, and challenge you to a fan fluttering contest, or a veil dancing contest, or a knife throwing contest, or . . . I don’t know. Sayyida has always had a way of making things come about to her advantage. And to Gondor’s advantage, for many years. And I’m sure that she knew just which kingdom she was helping, for almost all of that time. She saved my life, and Dev’s, more than once. Information that she gave us from her vast network of business contacts helped us to . . . well, do the things we needed to do in Ithilien and South Gondor.” 

Eowyn paused, and then asked suspiciously, “Was she your most valuable informant, in South Gondor? THAT informant?” 

Faramir sighed, and then confessed, “Yes. And I was about to tell you that, too.” 

Eowyn was silent again, considering that. Then she said “Well, I would have liked to meet her, if she’d managed to keep you from getting conscripted into Harad’s army and then kidnapped by pirates. Now I mostly want to kill her again.” 

“That wasn’t all her fault. I’ve been conscripted three or four times. It’s customary to just bribe your way out. If I’d had more time before the pirates ambushed us, I would only have been a little late coming home,” Faramir said matter-of-factly. 

Legolas was shocked to hear Eowyn laugh, when he himself wanted to smack Faramir, and then push him into the fountain. Or push him into the fountain, and then smack him, because in that order it would hurt more. 

But Eowyn was laughing, “Oh, my love, you have had such an interesting life! Now, about this Rose of Dev’s. While I don’t mind about the, ah, first thing. And I’m grateful to her for having helped you both, and also Gondor, I suppose. But I’m not quite ready to forgive her for suggesting to a Haradrim army recruiter that you be conscripted in place of her neighbor’s son.” 

“The boy was only fourteen,” Faramir said quietly, “And had had absolutely no combat training. And neither he nor his father had sufficient coin to buy him free.” 

“Why didn’t Dervorin’s Rose just pay the boy’s head price, then?” Eowyn asked angrily, “Why bring you into it at all?” 

“Because you can’t openly bribe a Haradrim army recruiter,” Faramir began to explain patiently.

Eowyn raised her hands in exasperation, “Oh, of course you can’t! How foolish and naïve of me.” 

“But you can point him in the direction of someone who can pay,” Faramir continued, in the same gentle, reasonable tone, the one which made Legolas want to drop a frog into his boot at times like this, “And then, after such a person is recruited, it’s customary to wait until you’re personally called up by the officer in charge, in order to present the deal as just deferring military service, until an unspecified later time. And it always helps if the person in question – like the merchant Faran – has enough friends in high places that a highly ranked army recruitment officer, like the one we were on our way to see when the pirates ambushed us, would know better than to refuse.” 

“Of course it is,” Eowyn agreed wryly, “I’m still going to tell our Dev’s Rose that if she ever puts you in danger again, it will be the last thing she does.” 

“Darling,” Faramir promised his wife, “Dervorin’s messages have clearly indicated that Sayyida went with him into the heart of Umbar in search of me, of her own free will. The highest social circles of Umbar are Sayyida’s personal fires of Mordor. If she braved that in search of me, even with Dervorin to aid her, then she’d slit her own throat herself before risking my life again.” 

“And you are sure of this?” Eowyn asked. Not in a skeptical tone, but in the tone of a woman who trusted the man before her more than she trusted any other person on the face of Arda. 

“As sure as I am that she meant me no harm when she told her neighbor to give the army recruiter my name,” Faramir said, his tone as certain-sure as a laurel tree is that buds will come again in the spring, “And of that,” Faramir confirmed Legolas’ impression, “I am as certain as I am that you love me.” 

“Very well, then,” said Eowyn, on a sigh, “I will give this Haradric Rose a chance.” 

“I won’t mind if you threaten her, just a little,” Faramir offered in compromise, “I don’t particularly enjoy being conscripted without a by-your-leave. But please do know that she did not mean me any harm.” 

“I can threaten her just fine on the basis of her lack of judgement in this one instance, my love, don’t worry,” Eowyn had assured her husband. Then the two of them had gone back to the cuddling and the kissing with more fervor, and Legolas had quickly retreated. He wasn’t a voyeur; he had just been in search of information. 

And he’d found more than he had been looking for! Legolas didn’t understand some of what he’d heard, and what little he had understood had made him even angrier with his friend. 

And so that was the state of mind Legolas was in, when he and Faramir retreated to the common room of the guest apartments that Legolas was currently sharing with his with his father and their other Greenwood kin. Legolas normally shared a smaller suite of rooms with Gimli, but given the visit of the Elven King and all of the dwarves visiting to help Minas Tirith’s engineers and stone workers plan and build a vast new acqueduct for Minas Tirith, both of them were staying with their own folk. Which was probably for the best, because Legolas’ beloved father Thranduil might really have strained a muscle in his face trying to keep from sneering sarcastically at Gimli. And Gimli might well have started a brand new War between the Dwarves and Elves with one of Legolas’ less sensitive kinsmen. 

“Well enough, ‘Las,” Faramir said with weary fondness to his elven oath-brother, once they’d checked to make sure that the outer door was shut, and that all the windows were closed, “What else have I done to offend you?” 

“Not only were you trying to go back INTO Harad,” Legolas scolded Faramir fiercely, “But you are now letting Dervorin bring your old mistress back here with him! How could you do that to Eowyn?!?” Legolas tried to keep his voice low, but it wasn’t as if anyone else was in the apartment to hear them. All of Legolas’ kin had other plans for the day. That was why he’d decided to have this conversation here. 

“Wait, Legolas. Stop right there” Faramir said, holding up a hand to reinforce his words, “You are jumping to conclusions and speaking wrongly with respect to a matter about which I suspect you know very little. Sayyida bint Esmail is a woman of Harad and a business woman of South Gondor. She has been a loyal servant of Gondor for many years, and has risked her own life and the lives of her people in our service, as well as her livelihood and the livelihoods of those who depend on her. Now, are you really so upset just because I once slept with someone else, many years before I had even met Eowyn?” 

“But now Dervorin is bringing her here,” Legolas accused acidly. 

“He is. But as his own wife. Nor have I been disloyal to Eowyn in word or deed since first I laid eyes upon her,” Faramir told him sternly. 

“But how could you have . . . have bonded with someone else, before Eowyn?” Legolas demanded. His own idea of what he wanted in a marriage someday was based very much on the relationship he had watched ripen and grow between Faramir and Eowyn. To find out that Faramir had bonded with someone else first . . . it was as if the whole basis of his relationship with Eowyn had been tarnished. 

Faramir sighed and ran a hand through his loose shoulder-length red-gold hair, and then began in a patient, soothing tone, “Legolas, it wasn’t like that. Dervorin and I needed information, and the only way to get it was to win a certain contract, a contract to trade with the Beys who supplied the Army of Far Harad. Sayyida held the rights to that contract, it was hers to sell. She didn’t just want money; she could have had that from anyone. She wanted both of us, in her bed. Dervorin . . . well, you know Dervorin. And I won’t hear you criticize him,” Faramir added firmly, which, to be fair, Legolas had been about to begin doing. At length, too. 

“Sayyida is a good person,” Faramir continued, once he saw that Legolas would keep his peace on the matter of Dervorin’s morals or lack thereof, “Once she realized that I didn’t treat . . . such matters as she wished to explore with us, as lightly as Dev, she focused her attentions on Dervorin. She and I didn’t, ah, do anything that would result in a bond between elves, as I understand the matter from Arwen, and from Aragorn’s brothers. And, though it is hard to explain if you haven’t been there, amongst the human kingdoms corrupted by the Enemy there are things, knowledge of the matters between men and women, that every man of Harad of a certain age is supposed to know.” 

“I don’t know if I really want to know . . .” Legolas began uncertainly. 

“Then you shouldn’t have insinuated that a valued member of Gondor’s Silent Service is my mistress,” Faramir said, his voice not unkind but also not at all inclined to compromise, “I didn’t know those things, either, when I was a teenager. I didn’t experience most of them until I was with Eowyn, and some of them I still have only learned in theory and have had no desire to practice. But, as a spy, I had to learn to speak and act as if I knew what went on, between men and women in a country where most women were chattel or currency, and only a rare few like Sayyida had bought their own freedom and autonomy. And in Sayyida’s case, those privileges were bought with dear coin, indeed.” 

“What happened to her?” Legolas asked, his innate empathy distracting him from his anger, and his offense on Eowyn’s behalf, and on behalf of his own disillusionment. 

“I do not entirely know,” Faramir admitted, “And I would not tell you even if I did, for it is her story. But I know that even though she has never carried a sword or held a bow, at least not that I know of, she has had to fight, and fight hard and smart and fiercely, to win and keep her own freedom, and to keep all of the people she supports free and fed. And, despite all of that, she was kind to me, when she realized that I was a virgin who didn’t want to sleep with a woman he wasn’t in love with, no matter how beautiful she was.”

“And then, after Dervorin and I helped to rescue one of her employees from a kidnapping by some of her customers who were angry that she’d given that first contract to us instead of them, she taught me – and Dervorin – how to speak and act as if we knew the things that we needed to know to pass as Southrons. Not just about matters between men and women, but also about slavery, about the Haradric and Umbaran economies, and about the desert and the city of the corsairs. So much of what we needed to know in order to truly carry off our act of being merchants born and raised in the no man’s land between Ithilien and Harad, Sayyida taught us. Without her, Dervorin and I would have died, far from home and un-mourned. It is fair to say that without her, there might never have been a southern spy network to bring word of Harad’s order of battle and preparedness for the Battle of Barad-dur.” 

“So you’re telling me that we owe her,” Legolas said, still struggling with that, “and that matters between men and women are more complex than I had ever thought.” 

“Oh, my dear brother. A very strong aye, we do, to the first, and to the second . . . well, I have been married for several years, and am now three times over a father. And I am still learning new things about affairs between men and women, every day.” 

“That doesn’t fill me with hope, Faramir,” Legolas complained, exasperated. 

“I’m sorry, gwador muin nin,” Faramir said, with a sympathetic and only slightly amused smile, “But I am not in the habit of telling you things which are not true.” 

“But you were in the habit of NOT telling me things,” Legolas complained. 

Faramir sighed, took a deep breath, and then tried again, “Las-nin, you are an officer in your father’s Army of Greenwood, are you not? Albeit one on detached duty whilst you govern your settlement in Ithilien?” 

“I am. What of it?” 

“You trained elves, in that army. You helped your senior and junior officers come up with strategies for fighting your enemies, for defending your wood.” 

“Of course I did, Faramir. What point are you dancing around?” 

“Imagine, then,” said Faramir, “That one day, you became King. In addition to all of your new responsibilities, you could never see any of your men in person again. You had to adjust their strategies from afar on the basis of second hand reports, without talking to them. Even though some of them had never met anyone else from your army except for you. And you had to keep sending your dear friend, and many other men and some women you care for, back into danger, again and again. And not just into danger, but far beyond real hope of rescue, with their best hope of succor sometimes being foreign men who will only talk to you, and not to anyone else. What would you have done, Legolas?” 

“I would have told my father about it,” Legolas disputed hotly, “And at least given him the chance to help me.”

“Assume that your father never knew that you had commanded any of these men in person,” Faramir tried again, with the same insufferable calm, “That he never knew that the lives of spies, of men and women, relied sometimes on your making an appearance in person, at least once to transition an informant to making contact with a new man.” 

“I would never have done that, not without my father knowing,” Legolas said firmly. 

“Would never have, or could never have?” Faramir asked archly. 

“Don’t try to talk your way out of this, Faramir!” Legolas said harshly, feeling his mind and opinions getting twisted about by his friend’ s clever tongue, and wanting none of it this time! It had been bad enough when Faramir had convinced Legolas not to tell Aragorn when Legolas had overheard Faramir and his aunt Invriniel informing his uncle Imrahil that Faramir was in truth Aragorn’s son, not Denethor’s. Legolas was not letting Faramir talk him into letting this go, or viewing it as something other than what it had been – stupid, reckless, and dishonest, to a ridiculous and treasonous extent. 

Faramir raised a brow, then waited quietly. As if he’d done nothing wrong, and was just letting Legolas vent his spleen out of the goodness of his heart! 

“Not only did you defy your father and lie to all of us, in deed if not word, for YEARS – all the years that we have known you!” Legolas hissed in outrage, “But now you and Dervorin also plan to bring into the bosom of our family and close friends this trusted friend who handed you over to a Haradrim army recruiter, which succeeding chain of events, might I add, almost got you killed, multiple times! And you and Dervorin will be shoving this old friend, this valued informant, this FORMER LOVER, right in Eowyn’s face!”

“If you’re going to open this subject a second time, Legolas . . .” said Faramir, now showing a hint of temper which pleased Legolas greatly, “Then you should know that Eowyn, while she is planning to explain to Sayyida in careful detail how she feels about the army recruiter situation, also plans to thank her for teaching me the skills that she did. Because some of them kept me alive, and others of them . . .” 

Faramir kindly trailed off, but Legolas still put his hands over his ears and started humming. 

“That is rather what I thought,” said Faramir, not unkindly, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. And that, by the way, was far from the most shocking thing that I could have told you about Eowyn’s planned questions for Sayyida.” 

“I really don’t want to know,” Legolas said firmly. 

“And I’m glad that you know that now,” said Faramir, a little amused. 

The humor rekindled Legolas’ temper yet again. “I’m still angry with you,” he told Faramir. 

“Yes, I’ve picked up on that,” Faramir replied, with the mix of gentle, wry, sneaky, cynical-but-not-jaded humor which was utterly unique unto him. 

Faramir’s earnest kindness had been obvious to all, even just after the war. But it was his shy, barbless sarcasm which had first made Legolas realize that Faramir would be a friend worth spending time with, and not just a comrade in arms. And Legolas had thought that he had lost that, lost the only person he’d ever known to combine all of those traits in just that way. And all because Faramir couldn’t be bothered to tell Aragorn about a series of chores he’d taken on, a long time ago when he was a teenager! Dangerous, lonely errands that he’d still be going on even now and ten years from now, if he hadn’t gotten caught at it! 

“And Aragorn isn’t still angry with you,” Legolas complained, “Not as much as he should be. Even though you’d still be defying him and risking the life of a prince of the realm, if it hadn’t been for getting captured by slavers.” 

Faramir winced, and his left hand twitched, as if he would have tried to rub away the soreness in his hindquarters if it weren’t for Legolas’ presence. 

“Oh, trust me,” Faramir then said earnestly, “Ada Aragorn has made his opinions known. And he’s also told me that he’s not done making his opinions known, and won’t be until sometime after he’s had a chance to sit down with both me and Dervorin at the same time.” 

Legolas smiled wickedly, pleased to have at last found a weak spot in Faramir’s cursedly imperturbable calm, a spot where he could press his attack and make his friend hurt, too, even a little bit as much as Legolas was hurting. 

“That’s right,” Legolas said unkindly, “This time Ada Aragorn isn’t protecting you from a military inquest, or from being called to account by his own Standing Council, is he?” 

At that, Faramir’s face paled slightly, much to Legolas’ satisfaction, 

“No,” Faramir answered quietly, “Although Aragorn has decreed that any such official consequences shall wait until he judges me up to full health.” 

“That shouldn’t be long, now,” Legolas theorized cattily, forgetting to keep his voice low, since neither Eowyn’s privacy nor the confidential details of what Faramir had been doing were still at issue, “And tell me, Faramir, what do they use for formal military discipline here in Gondor? The birch, isn’t it? And how many strokes is it, for the offense of treason?” 

“It depends,” Faramir answered, then took a deep, calming breath, “Sometimes as many as thirty-six. Or death, but, Ada of course assured me that that, at least, is off the table.” 

“Thirty-six,” Legolas mused, “Have you ever seen someone birched that severely, Faramir?” Legolas knew that he was acting like an arse, knew that he was scaring Faramir. On the one hand, he hated himself for doing it, but on the other hand, he just couldn’t stop . . . 

“No,” the now-frightened Steward of Gondor answered, his voice finally shaky and uncertain, “Have you?” 

“No,” Legolas answered, torn between reassuring Faramir and scaring him further, and hating himself all over again as he decided on the latter, “But I’ve heard that it’s not pleasant.” 

“Daro, Legolas!” a powerful and uncomfortably familiar voice snarled in command, just as a wooden door crashed into the stone wall. Legolas stared at his angry father, kicking himself for not having noticed that the door to Thranduil’s bedroom was open at least a crack. And yet, at the same time, Legolas was grateful that his father had stepped in to save him from himself. 

Still, it wasn’t easy to turn and meet Thranduil’s angry, disappointed sapphire gaze. 

“Ada, I . . .” Legolas began, not sure what to say. 

“You will be quiet and go into my room and finish my correspondence,” Thranduil said sternly, “to the best of your ability, which had better actually be the best of your ability.” 

“It’s fine, cousin Thranduil, really,” Faramir objected, “We were just having a discussion.” 

“Oh?” Thranduil said, arching one golden brow, “A discussion about treason? My Legolas, my dear youngest son, my heart’s joy, is no stranger to treason. Come, ion muin nin, why don’t you tell our cousin Faramir of the two times you have trespassed so gravely against me?” 

“He already knows of the one,” Legolas mumbled, blushing, “When Baeraeriel, Theli and I prepared the supplies for Laketown’s rescue, and implemented the rapid redeployment plan to organize a large-scale mobilization without your leave, Adar. And then when we went to Laketown to kill the orcs, not because of the dwarves,” Legolas said, with a mental apology towards Gimli, “But because it was Laketown, and Eyrik’s and Eyvin’s and Girion’s kin still lived there.” 

“And what would you describe what you did, over the course of those weeks and that one night, ion muin nin?” Thranduil asked Legolas dangerously, “And do be careful to apply the same standards to your own behavior which you were just using to judge Faramir’s.” 

“Um, it was treason, Ada,” Legolas confessed, “I told Faramir that it was.” 

“Mmm,” Thranduil mused, “And treason not just in the sense of a breaking of trust, but also in the sense of risking the life of the one and only adult son of the King?” 

“But I’m not. . .” Faramir automatically began to protest. 

Thranduil and Legolas both rolled their eyes at that, and said at almost the same time, “Daro, Faramir!” 

Their combined efforts managed to quiet Faramir. 

“Is Eldarion an adult?” Thranduil asked Faramir pointedly. 

“No, but . . .” Faramir began. 

“Then you are, are you not, the King’s only adult blood heir?” Thranduil pressed on. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes, but . . .” 

“And did you or did you not risk your own life while spying on your Kingdom’s behalf in Harad?” 

Faramir’s face took on a stubborn expression, “It was my life to risk.” 

Thranduil rolled his eyes again, making Legolas wonder idly if he himself looked that sarcastic when he did that. 

“Answers like that,” Thranduil told Faramir sardonically, “are why your father has been warming your bottom for you every other day since you got home, in addition to sending you hither and thither with that paddle.” 

Faramir’s gray eyes widened in surprise, “How could you possibly know that?” 

“From the way in which you squirm ever so infinitesimally when you first sit down,” Thranduil informed him, as if it was obvious, “But you’re not afraid of Aragorn, are you?” 

“I . . . no,” said Faramir, who was very intelligent and very skilled at hiding what he felt, but not so good at hiding fear from a friend as dear as Legolas and an elf as old as Thranduil. 

“You lie,” said Thranduil, and his voice was soft now, and his tone kind, “But I have faith in your father. I knew his long-fathers Valandil and Isildur. They were good men. And I knew his mother’s people, as well. They were fair-haired, and good at dancing a thin line o’er the truth, much like you, Faramir. But they were good people, too. And I know my cousin Elrond, who helped to raise your father. Aragorn will not disappoint you, Faramir. You do not need to fear him.” 

“I’m not afraid of him,” Faramir protested, “Truly, I’m not. I . . .” 

“I didn’t realize that you were afraid of him,” Legolas interrupted contritely, “I’m sorry, Faramir. I shouldn’t have said a lot of that anyway, and especially not, given that.” The apology was heart-felt; Legolas had truly not meant to frighten Faramir. He hadn’t really wanted to hurt him, either. But Legolas himself was still hurting because of what Faramir had done. And Faramir still wasn’t as sorry for having done what he’d done as Legolas – or Aragorn – might wish for. 

“I’m not fragile, curse it all!” Faramir protested, now finally losing his temper. 

Thranduil laughed, “No, you’re not. That bitter fool Denethor may have dented your ability to trust in anyone with authority over you, but you’ve still got your fire. Aragorn won’t try to quench that in you, even though he will have to let you stand on your own to answer for your misdeeds, to him and to your Kingdom. But he has designated them as a lesser crime, for public consumption, has he not?“

Faramir nodded, and looked like he was beginning to calm down as he explained, “Yes, he has. The official story, the one that’s being given to the military and the council, is that I went against orders in pursuing a group of bandits over the Ithilien border into Harad, which is where I was captured. By the slavers,” Faramir clarified, “And then the rest of the story is being told as it truly went. The shipwreck, Erchirion finding us, all of that.” 

“And that set of facts resembles more closely a charge of insubordination, albeit gross insubordination, than treason,” Thranduil observed calmly.

“Yes,” Faramir agreed, taking a deep breath and seeming less afraid already, much to Legolas’ relief. Legolas still felt quite guilty, though. 

Thranduil nodded back to Faramir, still calm and cool, “That is what I officially punished Legolas, Baereriel, Theli, and their confederates for, just before the Battle of Five Armies,” Thranduil shared. 

“And again afterward,” said Legolas, wincing at the thought of that unfortunately memorable paddling. 

“No, ion-nin,” Thranduil said pointedly, “Afterward, was for the other time you committed treason. And it was only you in trouble.” 

“Ah, that,” Legolas acknowledged weakly, as both he and Thranduil carefully didn’t mention that Legolas – and others - had let Theli take the punishment for that one, and all of the blame, for many years. 

“Yes, that,” said Thranduil, although his tone was kind and even admiring as he said, “Although I am proud of you for admitting it to me of your own free will. There was no way that I could have officially admitted to having found out what you’d done in order to confront you with it. Not without putting into jeopardy what your friend and mine Ecthelion suffered so much to keep safe, although it wasn’t his place to do that, either,” Thranduil seethed, now irritated with Theli, who had been over an age old when he made the decisions which had so aggravated his King, and not upset with his son Legolas, who had been very young when he’d committed the mutiny that Theli had covered up. 

Legolas nodded back to his father, pleased by the praise, and then turned to explain to Faramir, “And that was the time I committed treason – or at least mutiny – that I didn’t tell you or Gimli about, Faramir.” 

“Don’t worry, ‘Las,” Faramir said, kind and patient as he almost always was, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” 

Legolas made a disgusted face at his friend, and told Faramir emphatically, “You’re too agreeable. It’s thoroughly irritating.” 

“It is,” agreed Legolas’ father, sharing a quick smile with his son while Faramir frowned at the both of them. 

Then Thranduil turned his attention back to Faramir, “Come, Elessarion, let’s go liberate your children and your little brother and their charming companions from the drudgery of their lessons and bring them into the freedom of the gardens. I want to see how they are getting along with the wolfhound puppies I brought for them.” 

“That sounds . . . pleasant,” said Faramir, who appeared baffled but willing, “Legolas?” 

“Legolas,” said Thranduil sternly before his son could answer, “will be working this afternoon. I wasn’t jesting about my correspondence, ion-laes-nin. Two hours. Do your best with it. We’ll come to collect you again then.” 

Legolas couldn’t help but groan as his father led Faramir away into the sunshine. But, obedient – and also feeling guilty for having spoken so cruelly to Faramir – he went into his father’s room, and took a seat at the desk covered with Thranduil’s scrolls and letters. 

The draft letter that his father appeared to have been working on before being interrupted by Legolas’ and Faramir’s argument seemed to relate to a disagreement between Lord Hithlamor, Thranduil’s chief vassal-lord in Emyn Duir, and Lord Tawarion, the most prosperous of Thranduil’s vassal-lords in the area of Emyn Duir.

Legolas’ father had begun his missive by writing ‘Your ongoing juvenile pissing match is stupid. End it.’ 

Then Thranduil had apparently thought better of ‘juvenile’ and had crossed it out. He’d also crossed out ‘stupid’ and replaced it with ‘pointless.’ 

Legolas wondered which of his advisors Thranduil must have thoroughly irritated such that he was having to write his own letter trying to make peace between Lord Hithlamor and Lord Tawarion, neither of whom Thranduil had much patience for. Hithlamor was at the least good-intentioned; Tawarion had been a thorn in Thranduil’s side since long before Thalion had been born, let alone Legolas. Tawarion’s son Aegassion, as a soldier in Thranduil’s army, had made a habit out of being nasty to anyone lower in military rank than himself, including Legolas and Legolas’ friend Theli. 

Legolas applied himself to writing a better version of his father’s rude letter, all the while thinking of treason, and friendship. And of how hard it was to be the great elf’s heir, so close to the power and the decision-making but still at times unable to do what one felt was right. And Legolas thought about loyalty, about how Faramir’s loyalty to Dervorin and his spies had led Faramir into treason, while Legolas’ cousin Baeraeriel’s loyalty to Legolas, and Theli’s loyalty to Legolas, had led the both of them into treason. 

Thinking of all of that made Legolas remember the time just after his father had first learned of the dwarves’ quest to recover their treasure from Erebor. And it made him vividly recall the day when Baeraeriel and Theli had decided to help Legolas circumvent his father’s will, and bring the Greenwood into that struggle despite Thranduil’s orders to the contrary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes:
> 
> Gimli’s punishment of Legolas after Legolas went into Harad after Faramir is described in “Songs on the Straight Road,” chapter 3, available at http://archiveofourown.org/works/3517526/chapters/22679411
> 
>  
> 
> Part of Faramir and his friends’ adventure with the trolls in Ithilien is described in “Oh Good, That Worked,” chapter 10 of the Tales of the Telcontars, which is available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214796/chapters/342298
> 
> The time when Faramir did not hesitate to follow Legolas into the wight-infested Emyn Duir is described in Chapters 2 – 5 of the “Mountains of Morning,” which are chapters 14 et. seq. of “Tales of the Greenwood,” available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/4181961
> 
> Finduilas’ skills as a seeress are described in several of my stories, including the first and second chapters of “Adrahil’s Family,” available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214837/chapters/322738
> 
> Faramir and Dervorin’s informant and friend Sayyida features in “Lucky,” chapter 16 of the “Tales of the Third Age in Twilight,” and in “Firsts,” chapter 19 of the same story, and also in “Pressure Points,” chapter 23 of the same story. “Lucky” can be found here, the other stories can be found by going to those chapters from the same link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214277/chapters/397547


	30. Chapter 2 of "It's Called Treason"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This story takes place not long “True Colors” which itself takes place directly after “Temper, and Time,” chapter 9 of the Tales of the Greenwood, which are both available here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/1128331
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Captain Linwe, and General Rochendil, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
>  
> 
> Quote:
> 
> “Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved.” ― Martin Luther

Third Age Year 2941

The trees on either side of what had until just recently been the elves’ third new bridge over the Enchanted River was burning. 

Orcish fire arrows still fell like rain. The monsters themselves were rallying their wargs to leap across the river gorge. Their goal was undoubtedly to chase after the elven soldiers who had been defending the engineers and other workers putting the bases of the bridge into place. 

Captain Eriston’s horn called for his warriors, including Legolas, to withdraw at their best speed towards the safety of the Hall, and the army companies kept in reserve there. But withdrawing would mean leaving the engineers and stone workers who had been building the bulwarks of the bridge to the mercy of the orcs. And Legolas wasn’t willing to do that, not when the call had only been ‘at best speed’ and not ‘immediately.’ 

Legolas looked over to his fellow junior officer, Mindothor, and saw in that soldier’s chestnut eyes that he was like-minded. 

“We’ll hold off the orcs,” Legolas shouted to Mindothor, “You and your lot take Bothanar and Limdir and pull up any living engineers, stoneworkers, and guards!” Bothanar and Limdir were the biggest and strongest elves out of Legolas’ warriors. Bothanar was also his least accurate archer. 

Mindothor nodded and led his warriors plus Legolas’ two down the hill back towards the burning ramparts of what was to have been their new bridge. Legolas and his remaining warriors readied their bows, took up defensive positions, and began to pick off enemy targets. 

Legolas aimed for the eyes of the wargs. It was a small target, but hitting it perfectly meant that the creatures couldn’t see; and if they couldn’t see, then they couldn’t jump the gorge over the river. Legolas’ best archer, Soldier Thranduil Colfinnion, called Finn, was following the same strategy. 

Legolas’ other elves – among them Soldiers Nimtolien, Rillien, Gathion, and Theli – took aim for the larger targets of the orcs’ throats and faces. 

“Some of the engineers and the soldiers who were guarding them still live!” called Junior Officer Mindothor from father down the river bluff, “We’re bringing them up, but we could use Theli!” 

Theli was one of their company’s few healer-soldiers. Legolas was sure that every fiber of Theli’s being wanted to go to the wounded engineers’ aid. But Legolas’ squad was barely holding the orcs on the other side of the river. They couldn’t spare an archer, even a middling one. 

And Theli knew it as well as Legolas did, for it was he who called back down to Mindothor, “Just do your best! We’ll need one of replace my bow before I can be a healer!” 

In what felt like an eternity but was in truth less than five minutes, Mindothor’s soldiers reappeared with four of the five engineers, including Legolas’ cousin Televegil, a bloody stone-worker, two injured soldiers whose names Legolas did not know, and also Junior Officer Mindothor himself, now bleeding from three orcish arrows lodged in his right leg. 

Bothanar, Limdir, and several of Mindothor’s warriors joined in rapidly firing arrows at the milling orcs. Then Theli shouldered back his bow and knelt to look after the wounded. 

Captain Eriston’s horn sounded again. It was still the call to retreat at best speed, not the call for ‘retreat immediately.’ But the fact that they were hearing it a second time, and that the call was noticeably fainter and coming from further away, meant that they had been missed at the rendezvous point. It also meant that Eriston had decided that the situation was too dangerous to send any of his soldiers back to rescue them. Several of Legolas’ and Mindothor’s warriors started cursing. Legolas would have joined them, but he didn’t want to waste the breath. 

“Legolas?” Theli asked, looking up from a bloody engineer, “Ten minutes?” 

Legolas did swear at that, although he never stopped choosing targets and shooting. If Legolas, Rillien, and Finn were able to climb up into the trees and shoot as they moved, then they’d likely have enough unpredictable angles of attack to keep the orcs on the other side of the river for a few more minutes. But that would only work if Gathion could take over for Legolas as Junior Officer. 

With Mindothor down and Legolas planning to engage in the kind of heroic, death-defying stunts that gave all of his commanding officers panic attacks, someone had to lead Legolas’ and Mindothor’s squads. None of Mindothor’s soldiers had any command experience. Normally Legolas could hand over command to Theli, who had once held a far higher rank than Legolas. But Theli was busy now, so that meant . . .

“Gathion,” Legolas said to his next most senior soldier who had the makings of a commander in him, “Have you been paying attention?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Gathion promised, his own bow never faltering. Gathion was the scion of a military family. Like Rillien, he hadn’t chosen the warrior’s path for his own until after the end of the Watchful Peace. But both of them would likely make officer in not too much longer, if they lived. And Legolas needed Rillien with him, because she was nimbler, and his third best archer. 

“Gathion has the command,” Legolas ordered, “Finn, Rilly, take to the trees. Finn, left. Rilly, right, but if you get spotted, move and then wait for me before shooting again.” Finn was almost as old as Legolas’ father, and he’d been a warrior for nearly as long. Rillien was younger, and had only started training to the sword and bow after her husband died in combat. Before that, she’d been a cook. She was a fast learner, but separating from the group when some orcs might have already crossed the river was not a situation that Legolas wanted her in alone for very long. 

“Theli,” he ordered, turning to his old friend, former mentor, and current subordinate, “Six minutes.” 

Theli nodded tightly. Then he left the injured body he had been working on, and went to another. Legolas didn’t look at their faces. He didn’t want to know who he’d just doomed by not being able to promise ten minutes. 

Legolas leapt up into the welcoming limbs of an old oak, following Rillien’s path and then climbing even higher with effortless ease. If it hadn’t been for the orcs and the dying elves, Legolas would have been having a wonderful time. Even as it was, well, this was the work he was made for. 

He leapt from treetop to treetop, Rillien beautifully following at an irregular distance behind. Together, their arrows and Finn’s, and the more expected pressure from the rest of Legolas’ and Mindothor’s elves’ arrows, kept the orcs on the other side of the river for another two minutes, then three. Now four, but . . . not much more. The orcs were regrouping, and their reinforcements had arrived. 

Legolas pulled his horn and gave the call for retreat immediately. That meant that they had to leave their wounded who weren’t well enough to behind, otherwise they’d be sacrificing the lives of whole elves to save those who might already be beyond repair.

Racing back through the trees, Legolas leapt down onto the ground amongst his elves and Mindothor’s, with Rillien and Finn following just behind him. Most of the warriors were already mounted, and half of them had an injured elf before them or behind them on their saddles. The others were still calmly shooting arrows at the orcs and wargs, and were using the fire Theli had made someone build for his healing potions to light the tips of their arrows aflame. 

“Legolas has the command,” said Gathion, passing over that responsibility with a sigh of relief. 

“Take Televegil up behind you on Gilroch, ‘Las,” Theli ordered, “Buckle him in just in case, but he’s aware enough to hold on.”

“I can help,” Televegil gasped in agreement, holding a hand to his bandaged side. 

Legolas mounted his restive stallion, then paused to accept Gathion’s help getting Televegil seated on the saddle behind him. 

“Rillien, take Master Galasben up in the saddle behind you,” Theli directed, “Buckle him in as tightly as you can. He’s not going to be able to help at all, but you’re the only one light enough to carry him. If your Moroch can’t carry the extra weight during the retreat without falling behind, then cut Galasben’s throat and cut him loose. He won’t feel a thing, I promise you that.”

The very tall and broadly built Galasben, Legolas recalled, was the senior engineer from the Greenwood working on site on the bridge project. Legolas’ cousin Fileg’s wife Calmarille was the real mind behind the bridges, which had proven very effective on the stretches of the Enchanted River closer to the North Hall. But Calmarille was an elleth who hadn’t held a sword since the War of the Last Alliance, and Thranduil hadn’t been willing to risk her on this venture. 

And Legolas was secretly glad for that. It was bad enough that his own near-age cousin Televegil, who did have recent warrior’s training, was bleeding from the stomach and the head, as he held onto Legolas’ back for dear life in the saddle behind him. 

Rillien looked heart-broken at Theli’s command to kill Galasben and cut him loose if he unduly endangered Rillien’s and Moroch’s own survival. It was a command that Theli hardly ever gave, but . . . desperate times. So Legolas reinforced it. 

“Rillien, do as Theli says,” he commanded, making a mental note to make sure that Rillien saw a mind-healer after today, if they both lived. 

As Legolas counted his elves to make sure that everyone was accounted for, he couldn’t help but notice that Mindothor, one of the soldiers Legolas didn’t know, and one of the engineers, the older one from Imladris, were still lying on the ground. The unknown soldier and the engineer had stopped breathing, it looked like they may have bled out. But Mindothor was still alive. 

“Bothanar, help me get Mindothor up behind me,” Theli ordered, “It will be a miracle if he makes it but we’re not leaving him behind for the orcs to find.” Some soldiers, even some healer-soldiers, would have just cut Mindothor’s throat. Theli only did that type of thing if they were actively on the run already and there was no other option. And Legolas trusted Theli to judge whether carrying Mindothor in the hopes that he might live would jeopardize their own survival. 

“But . . . what about Engineer Carastano?” Gathion asked Theli, with a tremble in his voice. 

So that was the name of the senior engineer from Imladris, Legolas thought to himself. Theli didn’t wince, he just concentrated on securing Mindothor. But Legolas knew that Gathion’s comment had hurt Theli, though far less so than failing to save Carastano had. 

But Gathion could be forgiven. He was still relatively new to soldiering, and he’d spent most of his time posted with Home Company, which saw action frequently but was rarely overmatched far from reinforcements. And since Theli had joined Legolas’ squad some weeks ago, Gathion had seen him do amazing things. But no healer was perfect, and . . . 

“I only gave Theli six minutes, Gathion. For Carastano too, he needed ten.” Legolas pointed out gently. 

“You only had six minutes to give me, Officer Legolas. It wasn’t your fault, or anyone’s fault,” Theli corrected, still without pausing in his task. 

As soon as Mindothor and Theli were ready, Legolas gave the order to rejoin the rest of the company. The last of the archers dashed to their mounts while those already on horseback watched their backs. 

Then their group set off and made swift progress toward rejoining the rest of Eriston’s company, despite the fact that most of their horses were carrying double. Mindothor died before they reached the rendezvous point. Theli cut him loose with a murmured prayer. Then he urged his horse up beside Rillien, to help her keep Master Galasben alive and in the saddle. 

Captain Eriston’s face when Legolas and Legolas’ and Mindothor’s warriors finally reached him was a study in relief. Legolas tried to tell himself that his Captain’s joy was for most of his missing warriors having lived, and not just for the heir to the throne having lived. And it likely was, or at least mostly was. Eriston was a good elf, and he cared for all of his soldiers. But nobody who knew that Legolas Erynion was really Legolas Thranduilon ever forgot that Legolas was the Crown Prince. 

They met Captain Teliemir’s company, which was the current Home Company, on their way back to the North Hall. The two companies together were more than enough to drive back the orcs which had still been pursuing them. Not long after, Eriston and Teliemir judged them safe enough to make camp, to do what they could for their wounded and rest for the night before returning to the North Hall in the morning. 

Legolas’ squad was detailed with finding firewood and hunting for fresh game for dinner. Well, Legolas’ squad, minus Bothanar, who’d taken a glancing cut from an arrow himself that he hadn’t even noticed in the heat of the moment. And except for Theli, who was with the wounded and wouldn’t even notice any of them again until everything that could be done for the injured had been done. 

Somewhat to Legolas’ surprise, Captain Eriston ordered Legolas to take command of Mindothor’s squad in addition to his own. Lieutenant Sirgalad, Legolas’ and formerly also Mindothor’s commanding officer, gave his nod of approval to the order. That rather surprised Legolas, as Sirgalad had entertained a number of doubts about Legolas’ qualifications as an officer when Legolas, Nimtolien, Bothanar, and Finn had first been transferred to Eriston’s company some decades ago, with Legolas as their junior officer. 

Mindothor, as Legolas’ fellow junior officer under Lieutenant Sirgalad had entertained his own doubts about Legolas. Particularly since, although Mindothor was far older and had been a warrior for much longer, it was Legolas who was senior in rank as a junior officer. Legolas had been made a junior officer by Theli, when Theli commanded him as a warrior in Theli’s mixed human and elven patrol, jointly based out of the North Hall and Esgaroth. Theli hadn’t paid much attention to age. Legolas hadn’t been the only elf he’d promoted to a rank unusual for his age. 

Theli’s standards for promotion had revolved around considerations which Legolas had known even at the time were somewhat unusual for a commanding officer. The first was, ‘can I trust this elf to take command in a non-dire combat situation when I turn over command, then stop fighting entirely to tend to the wounded.’ When a combat situation turned dire, Theli would retake command, and whoever he’d put temporarily in control had to be able to quickly reintegrate into the fold. The second qualification Theli had looked for was ‘can I put this elf in command of clean-up so that I can go be a healer.’ And then the third was ‘can this elf treat humans as well as other elves with respect and earn the trust and confidences of the people we protect.’ 

If the answer to all three of those questions had been ‘yes,’ then Theli had made field promotions and only informed Captain Linwe, General Rochendil, and Legolas’ father Thranduil about those promotions once they’d been in place for awhile. At that point, those authority figures had usually let the promotions stand because it would have been confusing to the elves and even more the humans in Theli’s patrol to demote the elves who had been serving as officers for months or even years. 

So Mindothor had initially doubted whether Legolas had really earned his rank. Once he saw that Legolas was more than competent as a junior officer, Mindothor, to his credit, had recognized that, and begun to trust Legolas to do his job and carry his share of the load as one of Sirgalad’s junior officers. Mindothor had still been somewhat jealous of Legolas at first, but he had been very good about not letting that make him treat Legolas badly. In time, Mindothor had even become Legolas’ friend. 

They had worked closely together, both as warriors and as officers, performing the administrative duties required by their positions. They’d commiserated together when Sirgalad gave them extra work, and shared well-hidden but mutual looks of resignation when they been taken to task for their squads’ work having been sloppy, or more often, for having authorized something that Sirgalad or Captain Eriston viewed as too risky.

Legolas would miss Mindothor like he’d have missed his right hand, had it been cut off in today’s engagement. In fact, Legolas would rather have lost a hand than Mindothor. The elf hadn’t had a wife or elflings, but he did have a mother and a brother who were still alive and at the hall, as well as a sister-by-law and nieces and a nephew. Legolas had never met most of them, but he vaguely remembered one of Mindothor’s deceased nephews whom Theli had told him had been a friend of Legolas’ older brother Thandrin. 

In the midst of mourning Mindothor, Legolas gave the orders for his and Mindothor’s remaining elves to go out in groups of three to either find dry or near-dry firewood or to hunt. Out of due diligence, Legolas also stopped by the tent that had been set up as a temporary healer’s ward. 

“The rest of us are going out to hunt firewood and game,” he informed Theli, “I suspect we won’t see you again until after we’re back at the Hall. Consider yourself on detached duty until then, and get some rest if you can.” 

“Uh-huh,” acknowledged Theli absently, as he ground up something pungent smelling with a mortar and pestle on a relatively level rock right outside the Healer’s tent. 

Because he knew that Theli was mourning Mindothor too – the two had apparently known one another well and been friends even before Theli joined Legolas’ unit some weeks ago – and because it occurred to him, Legolas added as a joke, “And paint purple polka-dots all over your skin first, before you rejoin us.” He’d said it mostly for the amusement of getting Theli to agree to such a ridiculous instruction with another absent-minded ‘uh-huh.’ Well, that was Legolas had expected to happen!

Theli still didn’t look up from his pestle and mortar, but his mouth quirked up in half a smile. Then he said, “Blue polka dots. I look much better in blue.” 

Legolas couldn’t help but laugh at that. He patted Theli on the back, “Keep up with what you’re doing. It’s good to have another healer with us. And do remember to get yourself some dinner. I’m going to the trouble of going out to hunt for it, after all. The least you can do is stop long enough to eat it.” 

“Uh-huh,” said Theli again, pausing to finger some of what he was mashing up and frown at it, apparently unsatisfied. Then he went back to grinding whatever-it-was up. Legolas had turned and taken several steps in the direction of the forest. But he stopped when he saw Lieutenant Sirgalad going over to Theli. 

Sirgalad had been kind and respectful to Legolas today, knowing of Legolas’ friendship with Mindothor. However, Sirgalad did not care for Theli. Sirgalad was Legolas’ lieutenant, and he was a capable officer. Legolas had learned a lot from him. But he was also the nephew of the powerful Lord Tinnulamoor, and sometimes he liked to throw his weight around because of that. Not with Legolas, of course, but with some of Legolas’ elves. And especially with Theli, who had apparently made Sirgalad’s now-deceased cousin Arlamor look foolish once, centuries ago, at negotiations over a treaty with the Northmen.

Legolas was relatively sure that Theli hadn’t done it on purpose. Legolas had still been an elfling at the time and hadn’t been there. But Theli didn’t generally waste his energy trying to make people look foolish. In fact, Legolas had never known him to do that. But Theli got along well with humans; he always had, so far as Legolas knew. 

And Sirgalad’s cousin Arlamor, from what little Legolas could recall of him, had been of the opinion that humans were a lesser race than elves. Given all of that, it was not a surprise to Legolas that Theli had made Arlamor look foolish during negotiations with humans. That the incident had apparently occurred in front of Thranduil and also his cousin Luthavar, who was Thranduil’s treasurer and also his chief negotiator when it came to the commercial aspects of most treaties, was unfortunate for Arlamor. But it wasn’t Theli’s fault. 

So there was that, and there was also the nominally treasonous order that Theli had given as the Sergeant of the joint elven and human patrol that he commanded, also centuries ago. On what turned out to be their last mission, Theli had led his patrol far outside the borders of the Greenwood and Esgaroth. They had been in pursuit of bandits who had captured elves, women, and children. The bandits had been planning to sell their captives in the Southron slave markets. Theli’s patrol, including Legolas, had succeeded in capturing the bandits, but not before they killed all of their captives. Those poor females and children still turned up in Legolas’ nightmares. 

The order to pursue the bandits so far from home was an ‘order’ that Theli had only given because, if he hadn’t, then Legolas, a few of the other elves, and most of the Men would have mutinied and gone after the bandits on their own. Theli’s price for giving the order and leading them, and thus giving them their best chance of success, had been that all of his elves and Men let Theli take the entire blame for ordering the expedition. They all had promised never to mention the mutiny. 

And they’d kept their promises, as hard as it had been at times when Theli was birched, expelled from the military, and sentenced to twelve years of labor on behalf of the Greenwood’s Elders. And as hard as it still was, when officers like Sirgalad and even some low-ranked soldiers treated Theli badly for something he hadn’t had much choice but to do. Legolas, Bothanar, and all the other warriors who had actually been part of Theli’s patrol did their best to protect Theli. As did some of the officers who had known Theli personally and liked him and respected him, despite their disappointment in him for what they thought he’d done, also did their best to try to protect him. 

But Sirgalad had never fought beside Theli before what Theli called ‘that incident,’ and he liked yanking Theli’s chain. Obedience and adherence to rank not being strengths of Theli’s, it was not generally a hard thing to do. Legolas tried to protect his friend and former commanding officer as much as he could, but he wasn’t as highly ranked as Sirgalad, or a number of the other elves who liked to pick on Theli. So there just wasn’t that much that Legolas could do to stop it. 

“Soldier Erynion,” Sirgalad ordered, and then paused when both Legolas and Theli looked up at him. Legolas used the same patronymic as Theli. 

‘Erynion’ meant son of the forest, and it was used by elves who had no father or mother to claim them, or who had been disowned by their families. Legolas used it both to protect his identity from kidnapping and ransom attempts, and also to make a point. If any Erynion could be the Crown Prince, then all elves called Erynion must be treated well, no matter how humble their origins. 

“Soldier Ecthelion,” Sirgalad further specified, even though he hated breaking military protocol and using first names. Theli did it as a matter of course, since he thought that Men and even elves answered faster to their first names. Legolas had learned that from Theli, and he used it with his own warriors. Captain Linwe, Legolas’ former commander, and his lieutenants had let Legolas just go ahead and do that, since it worked for him. Lieutenant Sirgalad, on the other hand, had tried to break Legolas of the habit. But once Legolas had proven to Captain Eriston that using first names did give his squad a slight improvement in response times, Eriston had ordered Sirgalad to leave the matter be. 

If only Sirgalad would leave Theli be. But no, even seeing that Theli was engaged in healer tasks, Sirgalad had come to pester him. 

“Soldier Ecthelion,” Sirgalad said again, after Theli had ignored him the first time and gone back to making whatever medicine he was laboring over, “I want you to feed and water my horse and set out my bedroll.” 

“Not now, Sirgalad,” said Theli, who routinely forgot to call elves by their proper rank, especially when he was acting as a healer. “I have patients.” 

Sirgalad narrowed his eyes, and the expression on his face clearly showed his anger and offense, “I gave you an order, Soldier,” he said harshly. 

“And I said not now, Lieutenant,” Theli replied firmly, “I’m busy. I have patients. I’ll do whatever you want me to do later, but for now, just let me do my job, curse it all.” 

From the furious cast to Sirgalad’s features, Legolas knew that this contest of wills was about to go from bad to worse. He got ready to intervene, even though he wasn’t sure how much help he could be. Sirgalad was Legolas’ superior officer, too. 

But, interestingly enough, Captain Eriston had evidently overheard their argument, since he came to intervene. 

“What’s all this then, Lieutenant?” Eriston asked Sirgalad. 

“This soldier refused my order to perform normal campground tasks, and is clearly insubordinate!” Sirgalad explained heatedly. 

Theli was carefully grinding his pungent whatever-it-was, and didn’t even look up as he said, “This purple root has to be mixed with the willow-bark tea and honey as soon as it reaches a certain consistency, otherwise my patients will be in pain for longer. I’ll do whatever it is that my lieutenant wants me to do AFTER all of my patients are taken care of. And after I can hand them off to another healer of sufficient experience to take care of them properly.”

“In other words, Lieutenant Sirgalad, let the healer do his cursed job,” ordered Captain Eriston, with surprising lightness considering that it was Theli he was helping out, and Eriston generally did not care for Theli. Although so far as Legolas could tell, Eriston’s dislike was more due to ‘that Incident,’ and to Theli’s general lack of remembering to call people by proper titles. And also perhaps due to Theli’s difficulty adhering to non-combat orders without questioning them as if he thought they were subjects open to debate and improvement. 

Much to Legolas’ frustration, though, Captain Eriston added, “You can take Soldier Erynion to task later for his tone and his lack of respect in making his refusal, Lieutenant Sirgalad, but not for his refusal itself. The health and comfort of our wounded is more important than normal campground chores.” 

Theli took the news of what likely meant for him a future switching from Sirgalad with complete calm, or rather by not paying any attention to Eriston. Apparently judging the purple root he was grinding up as ready to be added to the willow bark tea, Theli walked back into the Healer’s tent without further acknowledging any of Legolas, Sirgalad, or Eriston, who all outranked him. 

Eriston sighed, and said, “Junior Officer Erynion, I believe that you have a hunting expedition to lead.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Legolas acknowledged, adding a respectful salute. He both liked and respected Captain Eriston, and it would do no good Legolas joining Theli in getting on his bad side. 

Eriston nodded fondly back at Legolas, who took this as his cue to depart. He rather hoped that Eriston would have a further word with Sirgalad about leaving Theli alone, or at least not bothering Theli while Theli was acting as a healer. But there was nothing he could do about it, not without going over Eriston’s head, and Legolas tried very hard not to do that type of thing. 

Their hunting trip was quite successful. The hunter’s stew that night was rich with meat and well-supplemented with vegetables and herbs from another squad’s foraging. This close to the Hall, the soldiers who had done the cooking also had ample provisions of spices. If it weren’t for the elves, both civilian and military, that they’d lost early in the day, and for those who were still injured, the mood in the camp would have been rather light. As it was, the warm and tasty food at least kept hunger away, and sent all of those who weren’t on first watch to sleep with a full stomach. Legolas had certainly experienced worse nights as a soldier. 

He wasn’t on watch, but nor was he tired. So he went to check on his cousin Televegil. 

With one bandage wound around his temple and his stomach and chest completely covered by bandaging, mostly hidden by a blanket, Televegil clearly wasn’t at his best. But it didn’t stop him from smiling, albeit sleepily, when he saw Legolas. 

“H’lo, ‘Las,” Televegil greeted, his blue-gray eyes glinting with affection despite the pain he must be feeling. 

“Good even, Tel,” Legolas replied, taking a seat by the camp stool at the head of Televegil’s cot, “How are you holding up?” 

“Not feeling much pain,” Televegil asserted, “Healer Nathon gave me something with poppy in it, and Theli put honey and something else on the burns.” 

“Burns?” Legolas asked, before realizing that must have been what the bandaging on Televegil’s stomach was covering up. 

“Aye,” said Televegil, “From the exploding bags the orcs tossed at our bridge.” His normally cheerful face contorting with anger, Televegil added, “Curse all of them to a death in a spider’s maw.” 

“Sadly,” remarked Legolas, “The spiders don’t seem interested in them.” And it was a pity too. Spiders fighting orcs would eliminate a number of the elves’ problems all at once. 

Televegil chuckled weakly, “Aye, they don’t. And ‘tis a pity. But at least we know that the bridges further up river are inconveniencing them. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been out in force to stop us today.” 

“There is that, I suppose,” Legolas recognized. Having the ramparts of these new bridges in place on either side of the river made it so that any patrol with an excellent archer could shoot across a special arrow carrying a rope-bridge behind it. That arrow, if perfectly aimed, would slot neatly into place on the rampart on the other side of the bridge, so that the elven patrols could cross over the river. Such rope bridges could simply be cut down behind the elves, so that the orcs couldn’t use them later. The bridges had solved a number of the elves’ problems with reinforcing their companies on either sides of the Enchanted River and the Forest River. 

Televegil sighed. 

“Are you in much pain?” Legolas asked, concerned, and wondering if he should call over one of the healers. 

“No, truly I’m not,” Televegil said, seeming truthful, “I’m more worried that Baeraeriel will be angry with me, for getting hurt. Nana and Alagossiel will be upset, Alagossiel maybe a little less so since she can fuss over me as a healer now. But Baera will be mad, because that is she handles being worried.” 

“I wonder who she learned that from,” said Legolas wryly. 

“Oh, who?” asked Televegil, before realizing that Legolas was referring to his own father the King, and laughing. It made him move a hand to hover over his apparently burnt chest. Legolas decided to try not to make him laugh again. 

Instead he thanked him, “I’m sure that Baeraeriel will understand that you were just doing your job. You know, once she’s vented the first of her anger.” 

“And we can come back out again, with more soldiers,” Televegil theorized, somehow still enthusiastic despite everything he had been through today, “and pick a new spot for this bridge, if they’re watching the one we tried today. And once in place, the bridge won’t be easy to destroy. That’s the advantage of working in stone.” 

Then Televegil’s face turned sorrowful, “’Las, I feel like a cruel fop. When the orcs threw their exploding fire at us, one of the stone-masons shoved me down, out of the way. He died keeping me safe, and I didn’t even know his name.” 

“You’re none of that, Tel,” Legolas reassured his cousin firmly, “You can be a bit too focused on your work, but everyone who knows you knows that you don’t mean anything by it. And we can find out the name of the mason who saved you,” Legolas would insist upon it, “and thank his family.” 

“Thank you, Legolas,” Televegil said, appearing somewhat comforted, “That’s the least I can do. And . . . and your elf who died. The other officer who came down to get us? I’d like to thank his family, too.” 

“His name was Mindothor,” Legolas said, the words almost sticking in his throat, “And I’m sure that they would appreciate that.” 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Televegil agreed, with a firm nod that made him wince. 

“What did I tell you about moving your head, Tel?” Theli asked, more philosophical than exasperated, as he appeared from the other side of the tent with three bowls of soup in his hands. He gave one bowl of soup and a spoon to Televegil and another to Legolas. Then sat down on another camp stool with a third bowl for himself. 

“Not to do it,” Televegil admitted ruefully, “And believe me, I won’t forget again!” 

Theli gave him a fond, dubious smile, and then turned his attention to his meal. 

Legolas thought about protesting that he had already eaten, but he didn’t want to discourage his cousin from eating. Also, there was plenty to go around, and Legolas really hadn’t eaten that much the first time. It wouldn’t hurt him to eat again, and it was polite besides. 

Televegil finished about half his bowl, then fell asleep. Theli rescued his stew before it could spill. 

“Are you going to wake him up to eat more?” Legolas asked, remembering several instances when Theli had prodded him awake to eat. Of course, Legolas had never been injured, any of those times. 

“No,” Theli answered quietly, reminding Legolas to keep his voice down so that the injured could sleep, “He needs sleep more than food, and besides, I don’t want him to get sick. The concussion, the burn, the painkillers . . . there’s a risk he might get sick up if he eats too much. Or even eats at all, but I’ve treated Televegil on and off since he was born. He has a strong stomach, and with Nathon and also Teliemir’s healers here I have the energy and time to mop up vomit if he proves me wrong. However, if it were you or your Ada with the concussion and the burns,” Theli smiled with affection and amusement, “then you would have gotten bread and water.” 

Legolas sneered fondly at Theli, but he didn’t attempt to argue the point. Legolas knew he was likely to sick up just from eating something he didn’t like, let alone getting hit on the head first and THEN eating something heavy. And Legolas had never really thought about it before, but his father was equally picky about his food. 

“You should get some sleep,” Theli advised, “the morning will come soon.” 

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Legolas confessed, “I keep worrying about ‘what if’s’.” 

Theli sighed, and nodded his head toward the tent flap. They went and stood outside, but still close enough that Theli could hear if any of the injured elves coughed or called out.

“What if what, ‘Las-nin?” Theli asked kindly. 

“Well, what if the Enemy’s servants were hit us in strength at the Hall, like they hit us out there today?” 

“The Hall would laugh off that assault, Las-nin,” Theli assured him. 

“Well, of course, but what if we were hit that hard on EVERY side,” Legolas argued, “and then hit from above in the form of a flaming great dragon? They say . . . even Ada says, when I can get him to talk about it, that the breath of Asgareth could melt stone, and she was only half a great dragon! And cousin Elrond says that Mithrandir is right, that Smaug would ally with the Enemy, if the Enemy asked. What if Smaug were to melt the Hall, or part of it! Or bake us alive inside it? Fires of Mordor, what if he just set the whole forest aflame? What would we do then?!” 

“Well, keep our voice down, so that we don’t wake my patients, for starters,” Theli said wryly, “And as to the rest . . . I don’t know, ‘Las.” 

“If you say next that you aren’t wise enough to be asked,” Legolas said threateningly, but softly, “then I really will make you paint your skin with purple dots.” 

Theli laughed very quietly, “Oh, that would certainly be interesting! But in truth, no, Legolas, I don’t know what we would do. And I do know why you are making this point. We can discuss it later, if you wish. But not now, and not here.” 

“Will you help me?” Legolas asked, determined to have an answer to that at least. 

“Will you go on your own if I don’t?” 

“You know the answer to that.” 

“Then you know the answer to your question, too,” Theli promised, “Now go, and get some sleep. Time enough to figure out the rest later.” 

Legolas obeyed, and found to his surprise that he was able to sleep. Just knowing that he wasn’t alone in his aims, or at least in having to execute them, meant a lot. 

The next day found them back at the Hall. Legolas got his elves sorted out, and Mindothor’s, as well. He cared for his great bay stallion Gilroch, brushing his coat until every dark hair and the white star on Gilroch’s forehead gleamed. 

It was there that his father found him. Legolas was aware of his presence from the voices hailing him at the stable entrance. But the first he saw of Thranduil was another set of hands with another curry comb coming to stand beside him. 

“Shh, Gilroch, you difficult creature,” Thranduil soothed Legolas’ horse, whom he had often criticized for being overly fidgety. 

Legolas huffed an agitated sigh, but was in truth glad for the invitation to the familiar argument. 

“Gilroch did well yesterday,” he told his father. 

“Aye, he did,” Thranduil agreed solemnly, “I even brought him some sugar cubes for carrying you and your cousin safely through yesterday.” 

“Well, that does explain why he keeps trying to eat your pocket.” 

Father and son shared a smile. Thranduil took out half of what he’d brought, and put it in Legolas’ hand. Legolas let Thranduil feed Gilroch the treat first, because Gilroch really wasn’t above nipping at the royal fingers if Thranduil didn’t come bearing a gift. Gilroch seemed to sense Thranduil’s skepticism, but today they appeared to be getting on well enough. Sugar always helped. 

Thranduil put an arm around Legolas’ shoulders as they left the stable. 

“And where are you headed now, my heart?” Thranduil asked. 

Legolas swallowed down tears, “To go visit Junior Officer Mindothor’s family.” 

“I suspected as much,” Thranduil said softly, “I don’t suppose that I could convince you to sleep and eat first?” 

“No,” Legolas couldn’t rest until he’d at least done this. 

“I will come with you then.” 

Legolas didn’t ask if Thranduil was sure. He just stopped in front of a fountain in the yard, to examine his reflection and make sure that Gilroch hadn’t managed to slobber on him while he wasn’t looking. And also to make sure that there were no holes or singes in his uniform from yesterday. Seeing that he looked presentable, and that his father was dressed sufficiently formally for a death visit, Legolas headed off for the army records office to look up where Mindothor’s brother and his family were quartered. 

“I know where Mindothor’s brother Cuimborn and his wife Rendissiel live, Legolas,” Thranduil said, laying a gentle hand on Legolas’ shoulder to stop him from going towards the records office, “I can take you there.” 

“You do? Oh . . . because his son was friends with Thandrin?” Legolas asked. 

“His son died for Thandrin,” Thranduil corrected, “Sadronuan could have left with the patrol that went back to the castle for reinforcements. He would have lived, if he had. But instead, he insisted on staying with our family, even after everyone there knew that it was our kin the orcs were chasing.” 

“And now Mindothor is dead, too,” Legolas said, his voice almost breaking. It was so much sorrow for one family to bear. 

“It never gets easier, ‘Las,” Thranduil said. Then he stopped and pulled them into a darker, quieter part of the Hall while Legolas broke down into tears. His father’s arms around him, holding him up, allowed Legolas to fall apart. He cried almost silently, not wanting to attract the attention of anyone else. 

Thranduil didn’t say anything; there wasn’t anything to say. Legolas had heard most of it before. Mindothor was a soldier. He had chosen to be there; he had died doing the job he’d wanted to do. He’d died for something, he’d saved friends by putting himself in danger. All of that was true, too. But it didn’t change the fact that elves of the Greenwood kept dying, and dying, and dying, and it never seemed to stop. And what if a great bloody dragon came flying in to help kill Greenwood elves? But Legolas didn’t want to argue with Thranduil about that again, so he didn’t mention it. 

When Legolas had cried himself out, Thranduil offered him a clean handkerchief, and suggested a detour by a wash room. Between the two of them, they had Legolas looking semi-respectable again in just a few minutes’ time. 

Just as he said he would, Thranduil went with Legolas to visit Mindothor’s family. Legolas gave a passing thought to what royal duties Thranduil had left unattended to keep him company, but didn’t trouble himself over it. Thranduil had able assistants, and Legolas truly appreciated his father’s support. Especially since this was Thandrin’s friend’s family, and they’d lost enough already. 

Mindothor’s brother and his family apparently lived along a street in the Hall which had come to be called ‘Craftsman’s Rest,’ because of how many craftsmen had their homes there. It was near both the main market, and not that far from either the smithies. 

They could hear voices and music coming from inside the residence even before they knocked on the door. A tall, sturdily built dark-haired ellon with the callouses of a smith answered the door. 

“Cuimborn,” Legolas’ father greeted him, when Legolas’ voice failed, “My son served with your younger brother. We’ve come to pay our respects.” 

“And we thank you for it,” said Cuimborn huskily, “why don’t you both come in, if you’ve the time. Drink a toast to him with us?” 

“We’ve the time,” Legolas managed, knowing that he could speak for his father as well, no matter what was on Thranduil’s schedule. 

They were welcomed into a warm sitting room, filled with the smells of good food and spiced cider. There were tears, but also smiles and even laughter. 

“And then Uncle Mindothor said that he’d kill any ellon who broke Linuriel’s heart,” another tall, strong ellon still dressed in the leather apron of a blacksmith said, “And then that pompous popinjay who’d been flirting with her practically pissed himself in fear!” 

The room roared with laughter, while a short, pretty elleth with long blond braids refilled everyone’s mugs of cider from a large earthenware pitcher. 

“And then when Linuriel actually fell in love with someone, well . . .” the young blacksmith grinned, “It was her who threatened Uncle Mindothor’s life, if he scared her ellon away!”

Smiles and laughter broke out throughout the crowded room again. Even Legolas’ father chuckled a little. 

Then the comely blond elleth with the pitcher spotted them. She smiled tearfully, curtsied, and then offered them both a drink. 

“Thank you, Rendissiel,” said Thranduil warmly, “We are happy to accept. I remember your cider quite fondly.” 

Rendissiel laughed breathily, “Oh, your Grace,” then when Thranduil winced, she amended it quickly to, “Thranduil, as I seem to remember, we were usually offering you cider when both of our sons had gotten into some mischief or another together, and we were trying to sort it out!” 

Thranduil smiled as he accepted the mug, “As I remember, it was usually my Thandrin who had gotten your Sadronuan into trouble. Although the two of you were polite enough never to say so!” 

“It went both ways, if I’m in any judge,” Mindothor’s older brother Cuimborn said, in a fondly reminiscent manner, “Our Sadron was never so happy as when he was with your Thandrin, and Sedilien and Rhovameril. Let’s raise a glass to them. I’m sure that the three of them are all looking out for one another in Namo’s Halls, or in the West if they’ve been reborn. And they’ll look after Mindothor, too.” 

“Aye,” said Thranduil, and Legolas noted to his horror that his father was now fighting tears. 

“And we take care of Rhovameril,” said Rendissiel, nodding discreetly towards the radiantly beautiful dark-haired elleth speaking softly with another lovely blond. 

Rhovameril had often looked out for Legolas when he was an elfling. She’d taken him gardening with her and her father, and begged an escort to take them both outside the Hall more often than it might otherwise have been granted. 

Legolas’ former elfling-minder noticed him and Thranduil, and came over to greet them. She knew Thranduil well enough to know that he preferred informality in most situations, and didn’t bother curtseying. She hugged Legolas, and then even Thranduil, whom Legolas noticed with some surprise returned the embrace. 

Rhovameril gracefully and tactfully eased them both Legolas and his father into the circle of conversations, so that they did not feel out of place. 

Cuimborn turned to Legolas, and said proudly, “Ah, and you’re the young officer Mindothor spoke so highly of. It’s an honor to meet you, Junior Officer.” 

Which was, of course, a proper way to address Legolas, and had the added benefit of not marking him out as anyone extraordinary, when the last thing he wanted to do was make the gathering about greeting the King and Crown Prince rather than celebrating Mindothor’s life. 

“I . . . I came to respect your brother Mindothor greatly, Master Cuimborn,” said Legolas, guessing at the elf’s status as a master craftsman based on the state of their house and his memory of Mindothor’s swords and knives, which had always been of the very highest quality, “I am so sorry for his loss,” Legolas continued, fighting tears again. 

“Ah, lad,” said the large smith, “Mindothor died doing what he was born for. He’d be proud of that, and so are we. We’ll all see my baby brother again, in Namo’s House or in the West. No parting is forever. And the best way to honor our Mindothor is to keep on fighting the good fight against the Enemy. And from what he said of you, there’s no doubt that that’s exactly what you’ll do.” 

“I will,” Legolas promised, finding somewhere within him a smile, “Your brother would say – did say – that I don’t know how to quit, even when I should.” 

Cuimborn laughed again, “Aye, that sounds like something he would say, my baby brother. He admired that in you, though. It’s the ones who don’t know how to quit who keep us all going past what we thought we could endure. I learned that in the South, during the War. Now that the War has come to our home and driven us all the way out into this very last corner of our Wood, it’s no less true.” 

“Excuse me? Prince . . . I mean, Junior Officer Legolas,” a hauntingly beautiful voice asked haltingly. 

“Yes, Miss . . .” Legolas replied, turning to the dainty blond wearing a golden harp, the symbol of a high-ranking minstrel. 

“Mistress Linuriel,” the elleth corrected, with no sign of offense. Her delicate face was streaked with tears, but there was no blame in her eyes for Legolas when she asked, “I’m sorry to interrupt. Junior Officer Mindothor was my uncle. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know Ada told me not to ask,” she said, with a guilty and apologetic but somehow still defiant glance at Cuimborn, “but I must ask, I must! Please tell me . . . how did my uncle die?” 

Cuimborn sighed, and pulled his daughter into his arms, “Lass, lass,” he began to scold her gently, but Legolas interrupted. 

“Will it help you to know, Mistress Linuriel?” he asked quietly, keeping his voice pitched low enough that the others in the room need not hear it unless they wanted to come closer. 

“Just Linuriel,” she corrected him with a sad, brave little smile, “And yes, it would . . . I can’t, I can’t help but think it was awful, and . . . if I know how awful it really was, I won’t stop imagining all the different awful ways it could have happened but didn’t. They said. . . the nice captain and lieutenant who came, they said that we couldn’t have his body, to say a proper goodbye. Are you sure . . . are you sure that he was really dead, when he fell? What if he was alive,” Linuriel’s voice broke there, and her honey-brown eyes overflowed with tears, “and . . . and . . . and the orcs got him . ..” 

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” Legolas hastened to assure her, “Theli treated him, and Theli would have been sure. He was shot three times in the leg by orc arrows coated in poison. The poison attacks the heart. That is what would have killed him. Theli gave Mindothor a painkiller, because there was nothing else he could do for him with the time we had, and your uncle fell asleep, and knew no more pain. He died in his sleep.” 

“Oh,” Linuriel gasped, as Cuimborn held her more tightly, his own chestnut eyes more relieved than anything else, “Oh . . . that is not so bad as I had feared. And Uncle Theli was there?” 

“Theli was there,” Thranduil confirmed, coming up behind Legolas, and saving him having to speak through a suddenly dry throat. Legolas had known that Mindothor and Theli knew each other, and that they got on well. He hadn’t known that Theli had been like another uncle to Mindothor’s niece. 

“And I’m certain that Theli will come to visit you when he can,” Thranduil added, putting a supportive hand on Legolas’ shoulder, “He is likely still with the healers. There have been a large number of injuries amongst our patrols the past several days. All of the healers are quite busy just now.” 

“We’ll be happy to see him when Theli gets here, but we can certainly wait until whenever he’s done with his healing, and has gotten some rest,” said Cuimborn with a fond smile, “he’s always burned his candle at both ends. He doesn’t need to worry over us.” 

“I’ll tell him,” Legolas promised, “I need to go and see Soldier Bothanar at the Healer’s Ward.” 

“After YOU eat and rest,” Thranduil commanded with exasperated affection, “And that wasn’t a suggestion, ion-nin. It’s not a royal order, either. It’s an Ada order.” 

Legolas was considering how to get around that – would Thranduil believe that he couldn’t rest until he’d seen his wounded, too, even though Legolas had already seen them settled in the Healer’s Ward and knew that they’d all recover?

From the expression on Thranduil’s face, that excuse probably wouldn’t fly. 

Cuimborn laughed, “An Ada order, well I know those! Best to listen, young elf. I remember that your Adar was no more reluctant than I to take a firm hand to his son’s backside when it was needed.” 

“Yes, thank you,” said Thranduil, clearly a little embarrassed on his son’s behalf as he made their excuses and led Legolas out of Cuimborn and Rendissiel’s house. 

“I’m sorry, ion-nin,” Thranduil said once it was just the two of them, relatively alone on their way back to their own apartments, “Cuimborn has always been a blunt fellow.” 

“He has a good heart,” said Legolas, who didn’t bother to point out that Cuimborn hadn’t been wrong about the spanking Legolas had been risking if he hadn’t stopped defying his father, but more importantly “We were there in Cuimborn’s home because his brother had died, and yet he welcomed us into his house, into the circle of their family. I went there to comfort THEM, and they comforted ME.” 

“They’re good folk, yes,” Thranduil agreed, his arm around Legolas again, “And I am glad that you saw that they do not blame you.” 

“They really don’t,” said Legolas wonderingly. Thranduil’s arm around him tightened. 

His father accompanied Legolas all the way to their rooms. Thranduil didn’t leave until Legolas had fallen asleep.


	31. Chapter 3 of "It's Called Treason"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, Captain Linwe, General Rochendil, and Master Healer Telfindir belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> ‘And who is it, who heals the healer?’ 
> 
> ‘Those he has healed.’ - Anon? Not sure where I read this!

Legolas slept well into the next morning. Since he and all of the elves of Eriston’s Company were on leave, for the next few days, it didn’t really matter that he’d overslept. 

He found himself alone and at loose ends, so he went to the Healing Ward. He could check on Bothanar and on Televegil, as well as some of the other wounded he’d gotten to know a little in the past few days. 

Legolas found and visited with Bothanar first, in one of the common wards of the Army Healers’ Hall. There was a lot more activity there than there had been during most of Legolas’ prior visits, sometimes as a patient himself. Legolas saw at least two of the royal healers in passing, which meant at least three were there, given Theli’s likely presence. He also saw one of the healers who normally worked at the Hall’s main Healer’s Hall. 

“I feel fine,” Bothanar complained, running a hand through his sandy-blond warrior’s braids, “And I feel foolish, just sitting here.” 

“You were hit by a poisoned arrow,” Legolas pointed out with a wry, sympathetic smile, “They aren’t going to let you go until you’re past the critical time period for symptoms from the poison to show up.”

“But they gave me the antidote in good time!” Bothanar complained, rolling his eyes at his much younger Junior Officer and Prince. 

Legolas nobly resisted the urge to laugh. His cousin Alagossiel, dressed in the dark green robes of an apprentice healer, didn’t have as much restraint. Fortunately, Bothanar’s eyes were fixed on Alagossiel’s stunning face. He didn’t even seem to have noticed her bit of humor at his expense. 

“My dear brave soldier,” she teased, laying one hand on Bothanar’s forehead and putting her other hand gently around his wrist, with her thumb right over his pulse point, “How do you expect us to do our work if you desert us before we’re sure that you’re not going to get sick? You were given the antidote within the proper amount of time, aye, but how do you know that it is the right antidote?” 

“But . . . Healer Alagossiel,” Bothanar protested, “Healer Nathon gave it to me! And Theli said that he thought it was the right one!” 

“Yes, and I’m sure he did,” Alagossiel agreed, with a luminous smile, “Healer Nathon and Healer Theli are both very skilled healers. But they gave it to you in the dark, in a camp site, and without knowing for sure whether the orcs changed the formulation of the poison they gave you this time. If they did, even a little change, then the antidote might SEEM to work, and then a few days later, you’d be sick again. Maybe even die, if you were to lose consciousness before you call for help, or if whoever was there didn’t know what medicine to give you.” 

“I . . . I didn’t think of that, ma’am,” Bothanar said, clearly resisting an urge to clasp Alagossiel’s slender hand as she slid it away. 

Alagossiel noticed that but didn’t show that she did. If any elleth had experience gently declining the romantic interest of ellyn, it was Alagossiel! Legolas’ willowy, dark-haired, brown-eyed cousin was one of the acknowledged beauties of Thranduil’s court. She had also been one of its acknowledged minxes, until several decades ago when she decided to learn to be a healer, and cease exercising Legolas’ father’s temper by getting his high-ranking young lords, officers, and well-off merchants and craftsmen to fall in love with her. 

Legolas himself was pleased to see the cousin his father considered the most exasperating of ‘the little cousins,’ and whom Legolas himself had come to see as a friend, had found a calling she enjoyed. He was also glad that centuries of exposure to Alagossiel had finally to some degree lessened his own attraction to her. She had been the subject of his first infatuation. Legolas and Alagossiel were second cousins once removed, more than sufficiently distantly related to be considered a good match. 

But Alagossiel had never shown any interest in Legolas, besides as her adorable, sweet elfling cousin. Fortunately, during the time they had shared a school room together – she was the next youngest cousin in age to Legolas – he had been too young to have a crush on anyone. Alagossiel had been thirty-two years of age, or the equivalent of a thirteen year old human girl. When Legolas had been ten, the equivalent of a four year old human boy, and Alagossiel was about the same age as a seventeen year old girl, Legolas had been moved from the small elfling classes into Alagossiel’s lessons with Master Nuruichand, the then-royal tutor. 

She had always been very kind to him, just as she was being very kind to Bothanar, but in such a way that Legolas knew she wasn’t interested in him in, well, the way that ellith looked at ellyn they considered possible husbands. Legolas hoped that Bothanar realized that! 

“Well, we are relieved that so far the antidote seems to be working well!” said Alagossiel with a charming, encouraging smile, “If that is still the case later today, then we could consider letting you go, I think. But the decision would have to be made by a full healer.” 

“I think you’re every bit as good as a full healer, ma’am,” Bothanar said loyally. 

Alagossiel grinned impishly, “Shhh Soldier!” she teased, “I like to hear that, but they may not!” More seriously, she asked, “Do you have anyone to look after you at your residence? Two persons, ideally, one to stay with you and one to come get us, if anything does go wrong? How about your lovely aunt, who just left? You have her eyes, you know.” 

“She and my uncle did ask me to stay with them,” Bothanar reported, “But I hate to put them to the trouble!” 

“It’s them, or me, or one of your other officers,” said Legolas in a friendly fashion, “And if it’s me, you should know, some of the elves I live with are very difficult.” 

“I . . . I couldn’t stay with you, Legolas. You’re the Prince! And your father’s the King!” Bothanar exclaimed in alarm. 

Legolas tried not to feel hurt by that. Long practice helped.

“Well, then you’d best speak to your aunt and uncle,” Legolas managed in the same light, friendly, but still commanding tone, “otherwise, it’s me and my somewhat intimidating father. Or Sirgalad, and his rather famous uncle. Entirely up to you, Bothanar, of course . . .” 

“Or,” Alagossiel pointed out brightly, “You could stay with us. We have enough private rooms that we could move you to one, but you’ll be woken up every few hours by one of us coming to check on you.” Alagossiel leaned in a bit, and whispered in a confiding tone, “Between you and me, it’s not really that restful.” 

How Alagossiel would really know that, Legolas wasn’t sure. To the best of his knowledge, she’d never been a patient in the Army Healers’ Ward! But he kept that to himself, and just nodded sagely. 

Bothanar made what Legolas considered the wise decision, and decided to take his aunt and uncle up on their offer. Alagossiel stayed with Bothanar to take notes about how he was feeling, and Legolas left them to it with a mental note to follow up and make sure that Bothanar really did go to stay with his aunt and uncle. 

Legolas’ next stop was his cousin Televegil’s private room. Televegil was in bed, wearing a normal sleep tunic. His mother Glasseithel, an acknowledged court beauty of her own day, sat beside him, reading to him from a book on engineering. Legolas found the little he heard vaguely interesting, something about the bridges over canals in Lindon. Televegil’s older sister Baeraeriel, a lieutenant in Thranduil’s army, sat on the other side of Televegil’s bed, sharpening her knives. 

“Legolas!” Televegil greeted cheerily, although Legolas could clearly see the lingering sorrow and horror of the other day in his aquamarine eyes, “Welcome!” Televegil continued, “Have a grape! Or a cinnamon biscuit.” 

Legolas wasn’t overly fond of grapes, but he helped himself to a biscuit, “How are you feeling, Tel?” 

“The burns are feeling better,” his cousin reported, moving his wavy dark hair behind one pointed ear and drawing attention to the bandage encircling his forehead, “They’re almost more itching than hurting. But I’m still feeling dizzy and a little sick. So,” Televegil concluded, wrinkling his nose and making an unhappy face, “Here I am, until I stop feeling dizzy.” 

“Of course you are,” said Alagossiel, breezing in, “As you should be. Head injuries aren’t to be played around with, Tel,” she lectured her elder brother. 

“Oh, really, Glossy?” Televegil dismissed, “And with your few decades of experience as a healer, you know this? Why don’t you stop bothering me, and go play with your face creams and perfumes?” 

“Shut up and listen to her, Televegil,” Baeraeriel ordered sternly. 

Their mother Glasseithel didn’t seem to know what to do, as was often the case with her when her strong-willed children clashed. Glasseithel was beautiful, like her younger daughter, but when she was younger, Legoals rather expected that she really had been an empty-headed flirt until she fell hard for her much older, commoner husband Celuvor. Unlike Alagossiel, who had been exorcising the demons of her father’s death and her mother’s failing to deal with it by constantly getting into trouble, and flirting with ellyn had been the easiest way to think of to get into trouble. There was nothing wrong with Alagossiel’s mind. She’d just never decided to put it to anything constructive before. 

Obedient to his older sister – and truly fond of his little sister – Televegil did as Baeraeriel asked. He made another unhappy face, at which Legolas had to a smile, and said, “Sorry, Glossy.” 

Alagossiel raised an eyebrow at her older brother and crossed her arms. 

Televegil laughed, and amended his early apology, “I’m sorry, Apprentice Healer Alagossiel. Pray tell, what wisdom have you come to impart to your poor suffering patient?” 

“And why are you here in the Army Healer’s Ward?” Legolas added, “Aren’t you usually in the main Healer’s Hall? Or in the Royal Healer’s Ward?” 

“Well, yes,” Alagossiel allowed, “But there were a lot more military patients than there were normal patients at Healer’s Hall or the Royal Ward. So they sent some of us over here to help. And, um,” Alagossiel actually looked a little uncomfortable, “Apparently I’m good at getting soldiers to mind their healer.” 

Neither Televegil nor Legolas could hold back a laugh at that. 

“Trees all bless,” Televegil said between chuckles, “The court’s flirt finds out that all her hard-won beguiling skills are actually useful for something real!” 

“Oh, hush, Tel,” Baeraeriel commanded her younger brother, “And good for you, Alagossiel,” she praised her baby sister, “I’m proud of you. You’ve done very good work for Captain Eriston’s elves. And for my own comrades from Captain Teliemir’s company, too.” 

Alagossiel blushed, clearly beyond pleased by the praise from her stern big sister. To help regain her equilibrium, the court’s flirt shared the praise, “It was good to work with Theli again, too. He drives Master Telfindir crazy, he’s just so fast at diagnosing battle wounds and poisonings. And he’s good at explaining, too. Really, really fast at first, but then in more detail once everyone is taken care of as well as possible.”

“He did a little of that while he was treating me,” Televegil informed them, “Although to be honest, I wasn’t much paying attention then.” 

“Of course not, baby brother,” Baeraeriel lectured fondly, “You did well to survive, to obey Theli’s and the other healers’ instructions, and to hold on to Legolas as he got you out of there.” 

“If you say so, muinthel,” said Televegil, “Oh, Legolas. The name of the stone mason who saved me was Gernon. I wrote his family a letter, or rather,” Televegil nodded gratefully to his mother, “Naneth wrote it for me. But I want to do something for them, if I can, as well.”

“I’ll find out what they need,” Legolas promised. 

“You don’t have much time, tithen-‘Las,” Alagossiel pointed out kindly, “I can do it, if you’d like. I’d like to do something for them, for their son helping Tel.” 

“Nonsense, iel-laes-nin,” said Glasseithel, for once firmly, even though there was a hint of diffidence even when she tried to be stern with her children, “You are very busy with your healer training. I will go and speak to Gernon’s family, to thank them, and see what else they might need. I will speak to Elder Serellon as well, to see if he might know anything that we could do to help them in their time of grief.” 

“That would be very helpful, Nana,” Alagossiel said appreciatively. 

Legolas chatted with them awhile longer, and then went to see if he could find any of Eriston’s other wounded elves. On his way past the entrance to the Ward, Legolas’ attention was caught by a quiet, but intent, conversation between Theli and the senior royal healer, Master Nestorion. 

Legolas supposed that Master Healer Nestorion must also be here to help with the influx of wounded Army elves. But why he and Theli were arguing, Legolas couldn’t imagine. He walked a little closer while pretending to be looking at the scrolls by the door. Legolas had never really outgrown his elfling’s habit of eavesdropping. How else was he supposed to learn anything that the older elves around him hadn’t thought to tell him? 

“Go, Ecthelion,” Master Healer Nestorion ordered firmly, “You are done here for now.” 

“But, Master Nestorion,” Theli objected, moving a hand up to push one light brown braid back wearily behind his ear as he spoke, “Master Telfindir is still light on staff. He said that he’d be happy to have my help for as long as I want to stay.” 

Nestorion looked down at Theli sternly and said, “Telfindir doesn’t know you as well as I do. I can tell that you didn’t sleep when you left to rest, as you were explicitly told to do before returning. And I also know, as does Telfindir, that you are in some discomfort. Which we are going to talk about, in more detail, later.” 

Theli looked as if he wanted to dispute all of that. Nestorion sighed, and then looked up and noticed Legolas. The young prince prepared to be lectured at for eavesdropping. But instead, Nestorion took a firm hold of Theli by his upper arm, and more or less shoved him at Legolas. 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping . . .” Legolas began. 

“Take Theli with you, Ernil-nin,” Master Nestorion interrupted, “And see that he bathes, eats, and sleeps.” 

“I am not a small elfling, Master Nestorion!” Theli protested, clearly offended by this high-handed treatment. 

“Then stop acting like one,” Nestorion advised with calm authority, “Legolas is your superior officer. Go with him, and do as he says. Or we’ll be having another conversation, tithen nestor muin nin, and it will not be one which you will like.” 

Theli looked ready to dispute that, too. Legolas decided to save his friend – who was also his former mentor and his current subordinate – from himself. He put laid a hand gently on Theli’s shoulder, and tugged him away in the direction of the exit from the Army Healers’ Ward. 

Following Master Nestorion’s directions, Legolas led Theli towards the bathing chamber used by the military healers. As they walked, he reflected on his friend. It was strange to see Theli so very tired. It made Legolas realize that Theli was actually short. He was solid, though, almost as muscular as Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion. And he used that muscle in his fighting style. 

But without the overwhelming force of his friendly, cheerful personality animating his every step and gesture, Theli seemed small. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t smiling. Sometimes when he was working or when a situation was dire he wasn’t smiling, but he was still a focused, competent officer and healer, still animated by his strong, vibrant spirit. But right now he seemed . . . exhausted. Legolas didn’t know as he’d ever seen his friend like this before. 

Just before they moved out of sight, Nestorion called out to them, “And, Theli?” 

“Yes, Sir?” asked Theli as he turned around, still tired but with a bit more spark to him, even if it was mostly irritation. 

“What did I just tell you to do?” Nestorion asked, and in contrast to before his tone was fond, if still a little strict. 

Theli half-smiled and then responded, “Leave, to get rest.” 

“And food and a real bath,” Nestorion reminded his junior healer with exasperated affection, before turning firm again as he asked further, “And what didn’t I tell you to do?” 

“Go away,” Theli replied, now actually smiling, “as in leave you, or my home.” 

“Good, nestor-dithen-nin,” Nestorion praised, as if Theli were a favored pupil who had answered a difficult question correctly. Then he added, “Do keep that in mind.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Theli said, and it was clear that he was making a promise, not just agreeing to a request. 

The whole exchange had been rather a revelation to Legolas. It had seemed like an affectionate ritual more than a normal question-and-answer. Legolas had known, in an absent fashion, that Master Healer Nestorion had trained Theli, and that that the two worked closely together not just at the Royal Healers’ Ward but also at the Main Healing Hall. But he hadn’t realized that Master Nestorion had the same sort of ritual exchanges with Theli that Legolas had with his own father. 

That was strange. Also strange was that Legolas had been entrusted with someone to take care of. The young prince had learned how to look out for the warriors under his command, in terms of making sure that they had everything that they needed, and weren’t hurting, physically or otherwise. But, outside of his life as an officer, Legolas had almost never found himself in the role of the caregiver. True, Theli was now, again, one of Legolas’ own soldiers. But normally, if they were back at the Hall, it would be Theli looking out for Legolas, making sure that Legolas was well, caring for his hurts, making sure that Legolas ate, and cheering him up if he were unhappy, or even just overwhelmed. 

So, this was an unusual situation. But Legolas figured that he could handle it. He was almost always up for new learning experiences. And Theli had more than carried his own weight the past few days, saving lives and continuing to labor with the other healers. Legolas could take care of Theli. 

The first step was clearly to keep Theli from falling back into his previous unnervingly despondent and exhausted state. So, to prevent that from happening, Legolas decided to tease his friend as they entered into the brightly tiled bathing chamber. 

“You know, it’s funny that Master Nestorion still calls you his ‘little healer,’” Legolas mocked gently. 

He didn’t get the laugh that he’d been hoping for, but Theli didn’t seem angry. He just huffed, and shot back, “I’d say that it’s funny that your cousins still call you ‘Little ‘Las,’ but then that wouldn’t be polite, would it?” 

“You are in a mood, aren’t you?” Legolas observed, steering Theli through the door into the military healers’ baths just outside the Army Healers’ Ward. They were normally just for the healers, as the baths for the patients were inside the Ward itself. But Legolas had been here before, because the multiple high water-pressure shower nozzles were excellent for quickly and thoroughly washing off muck and blood. 

Theli, meanwhile, was looking at Legolas in astonishment, “You sound like your Adar when you say that.” 

“That’s not a bad thing,” said Legolas, who was actually rather pleased with the observation. 

“No, it’s not,” said Theli, still tiredly, but there was a great deal of affection in his voice, for both Legolas and Thranduil, if Legolas was any judge. As he spoke, Theli began to strip off his clothes and toss them into the laundry bin, starting with his dark blue healer’s robe. 

“What was all of that, with Master Nestorion?” Legolas decided he might as well go ahead and ask, “All the talk of leaving, but not leaving?”

Theli tilted his head at Legolas after tossing his patched tunic and undershirt into the hamper, as if considering whether or not to answer. After a few moments, he said, now clearly amused, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” 

Making Theli happy was what Legolas had been aiming for, but curse it all, did Legolas ever get tired of hearing that particular answer! He was an adult elf! It wasn’t his fault that he’d been born later than almost everyone else in the Greenwood! 

“How much older?” Legolas complained, not quite keeping a whine out of his voice. 

“Much older,” said Theli emphatically, now stripping off his faded blue leggings. 

“You’re not any fun today,” Legolas criticized. 

“I’ll try harder tomorrow,” Theli offered, a smile again in his voice as he regarded Legolas with weary fondness. Theli was now completely nude, but that didn’t bother him, or Legolas either. Theli had nothing in the way of body-modesty. Trips to the river chaperoned by Theli when Legolas had been an elfling had been the occasion for his learning that some villages of wood-elves just didn’t wear clothing when they went swimming, even when they were in public (and mixed company). 

After that, and even more after centuries serving in Thranduil’s Army together, Theli’s naked body was nothing new to Legolas. But even after nearly a century, Legolas was still having trouble getting used to the kraken scars. Plate-sized white circles with smaller circles inside, the scars from Theli’s encounter with a sea monster in faraway Dol Amroth went from his shoulders across his chest, and again from his thighs down to his ankles. He was also covered in lesser scars, like most soldiers. All except for one would fade, eventually, because Theli was an elf. 

But they’d fade more slowly than the scars of most elves. Just like Theli healed more slowly than most elves. That didn’t stop him from fighting while injured as well as, if not better than, most elven soldiers of Legolas’ acquaintance. But Theli’s slow healing was notable enough that it had been flagged in his military record. 

Partly to distract himself from the worry that thought might engender as he contemplated dragging Theli into treason with him again, Legolas decided to banter back. 

“See that you do,” said Legolas in a regal, authoritative manner, a mimicking of his father in Thranduil’s most ‘do as I say, I am the King’ moods. 

Theli laughed, which is what Legolas had been aiming for. Then he turned to go over to the row of nozzles affixed to the walls and ceilings of the bathing chamber. 

Legolas’ first sight of Theli’s backside, however, had him grabbing his friend by the shoulder and holding him still to take a closer look at his dark red backside. Broad, crimson, angry weals ran across Theli’s buttocks and upper thighs. His flesh was still swollen in clear lines where what looked like a belt had landed at high speed and with strong force multiple times. Worse, there were cuts, as if whoever had wielded the belt had folded it in such a way that the buckle end had also impacted Theli’s backside, left-wise and right-wise. 

“Who in the name of every tree did this to you?” Legolas seethed. 

Theli half-smiled and shrugged Legolas’ hand off, saying as he did so, “And now you sound like your Adar again. You don’t have to worry who did it. It’s already been recorded. The proper measures are in the process of being taken.” 

“Who?” Legolas demanded again. 

“It’s been reported,” Theli reiterated patiently, now walking over and starting the high-pressure water coming out of the multiple spigots, “It’s not your concern.” 

“You’re my warrior, it’s my concern,” Legolas insisted. 

“Then I’m sure that you’ll be looped in whenever you should be,” Theli said, his voice now muted by the pounding water. 

Legolas really wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He’d been doing his best to let Theli handle the gibes and barbs that came his way from Lieutenant Sirgalad and many others, because Theli had asked him to let it alone. And Legolas had let it alone, for most of the time since Theli had taken all the blame and all the punishment from their ill-fated expedition beyond the borders of the Greenwood after slavers over a hundred years ago. Their joint human and elven patrol been too late to save all of the females and younglings. But they had learned enough from the surviving slavers that the elves’ human allies, the Northmen, had been able to put a permanent stop to that particular ring of bandit slavers. 

So it hadn’t been entirely a waste. And Theli definitely should not still be paying for it. But Legolas couldn’t confess to his part in that long ago scandal, not if he didn’t want to start getting watched too closely to pull off getting aid to the humans of Laketown and the dwarves’ expedition without his father’s knowledge. 

Although, Legolas really didn’t have to confess to anything, in order to get these idiots off of Theli’s back. All he had to do was let his father, or General Rochendil, know about the continuing harassment. Legolas and Theli’s former captain, Captain Linwe, hadn’t put up with that type of harassment from his soldiers, not directed toward any fellow soldier, no matter what the beleaguered soldier had done. But there had been muttering about Legolas spending so much time under Linwe’s command. And Eriston was also a capable captain, and one with a different style of leadership than Linwe, so Legolas and his soldiers had been moved to Eriston’s company. But Eriston hadn’t stopped the harassment of Theli, at least not enough of the time, and Eriston was smart enough to know that it had been going on. 

So, going to Eriston might not be enough. Going over his head could make waves, and irritate him. But Legolas was done caring about that. Legolas generally tried very hard not to trade on his status as Crown Prince, but enough was enough. Theli clearly wasn’t handling this well enough on his own. And Legolas was his direct superior. It was time to act like it, whether Theli liked it or not. 

Theli, probably to distract Legolas from thoughts exactly along those lines, called out to him, “Legolas, can you get my clean clothes out of the drawer marked with my name in the changing room and bring them over here?” 

Legolas thought about requiring in return that Theli tell him who had beaten him, but decided against it. 

“Fine,” he called back instead, unable to completely keep the annoyance with Theli’s intransigence over the issue out of his voice. Instead of immediately going after the clean clothes, Legolas continued to look at Theli as he reconsidered whether holding Theli’s clothes ransom might be a good idea. 

Theli called back an absent thank you as he shut off the water and reached for a white, fluffy towel. He wrapped it around his waist, then he sat down on a wooden bench, and winced. After a moment he closed his eyes, seemingly enjoying the steam from the heat of the shower before it dissipated. His light brown hair was curly when wet, and hung down just past his shoulders. He wore a faceted blue lapis lazuli pendant in the shape of a torch hung on a simple strip of leather around his neck, one which Legolas had never seen before. 

Seeing his friend so at peace, and remembering that Master Nestorion, at least, had seemed to know what was going on, Legolas decided that he didn’t have the heart to demand more answers from Theli just now. Besides, Master Nestorion had asked Legolas to see that Theli ate and slept as well as bathed. So he went and found the drawer marked with Theli’s name. 

Legolas had expected that the clean clothes Theli kept in the healers’ changing room of the Army Healers’ Ward would be like most of Theli’s clothes. Made of good, durable fabric, and scrupulously clean and fresh-smelling. But also stained and patched, because Theli was too absent-minded to pay attention when he spilled chemicals on himself. And he had grown up with very little, and was quite handy with a needle, which made him not want to give up on clothing until it had become thread-bare. 

Being a little more conscious of what he wore and how it would be perceived would have saved Theli a lot of trouble, especially after Legolas’ father ennobled him when Legolas had still been just an elfling. What kind of lord wandered about in patched clothes, after all? But becoming a lord hadn’t changed Theli, not that Legolas had ever noticed. 

And so that was what he’d expected to find. But instead, a very fine set of clothing lay inside the drawer. The tunic was made out of a soft gray wool, with dark blue and forest green healing herbs stitched around the neckline and the hems of the sleeves. There was also a silk undershirt and small clothes, both in a blue so dark that the shade almost matched Theli’s eyes. A sturdy pair of gray suede leggings lined with wool and wool socks completed the ensemble. 

As Legolas carefully lifted the clothing out of the drawer, a folded note fell to the floor. It was addressed to Theli, of course, but Legolas read it anyway. His curiosity would let him do nothing else! 

‘Theli-nin,’ the note began, ‘I know that you do not like to waste clothing, but enough is enough. I replaced the poor garments which you had left here, and have donated them to the laundresses to use as rags.’ 

‘Do not offer to repay me. Do please take care in the future to dress more appropriately to your station, both as a well-respected healer, and as my foster-son.’ 

The note was signed ‘Ada Nestorion.’ It further piqued Legolas’ interest in the apparently close relationship between his friend Theli and the chief royal healer. But he at least had the grace to re-fold the note and put it back on top of the pile of clothes as if he’d never read it. 

Theli’s eyes opened when Legolas re-entered the room. He tossed his towel into the laundry hamper, and then stood up to accept the pile of clothes from his prince. At first Theli seemed confused by the garments he’d been handed, but then he saw the folded over note and laughed. Legolas watched as Theli put the note carefully down on the bench, then quickly dressed. 

“Don’t you want to know what it says?” Legolas asked, curious to see Theli’s response to the fond yet exasperated missive.

“I know what it says,” Theli responded, still smiling as he finished dressing and put the note into his tunic pocket. 

“Or at least, more or less what it says,” the healer clarified. With an amused, slightly chiding look for Legolas, Theli theorized, “And knowing you, and your curiosity, you probably know what it says, too.” 

Legolas at least had the grace to blush at that. 

Theli only laughed again, “Don’t worry, ‘Las, mellon-dithen-nin. I knew that there was a possibility someone had left a note for me. And I knew that if there was one, you wouldn’t be able not to look at it. I don’t mind. Do have a care with missives that are intended for other elves, though. Or even any of mine that come sealed. It’s not polite to read notes not intended for you. And there are a number of elves who have little patience for that kind of thing.” 

“I know,” said Legolas, still blushing. His father was one of those elves who didn’t have much patience for that kind of thing, and so was his foster-brother Thalion. Thranduil rarely ever caught Legolas at opening mail. Legolas had plenty to read in the scrolls and letters and petitions unsealed and scattered all over the King’s desk. Legolas did, however, occasionally read Thalion’s mail, a habit that Thalion had spanked him for on more than one occasion. 

On the one hand, Legolas understood his father’s and his brother’s frustration – he wouldn’t like to have his personal correspondence read by someone else, either. However, on the other hand, how was Legolas supposed to learn what was really going on if he didn’t eavesdrop and read the occasional missive not originally intended for his eyes? 

Theli ran his hands through his hair and then began braiding some of it back in the style worn by the healers, still regarding Legolas with a mixture of affection, patience, and amusement. 

“You may want to consider, ‘Las-nin,” Theli said, his hands still busily braiding back his hair, “That you are not responsible for everything. Despite it sometimes feeling as if you are, being who you are. You don’t have to know everything. You can trust some of the rest of us to handle our part. And you can trust that things will end up fine enough in the end, even if you don’t go out of your way to meddle.” 

Legolas found some of that appealing and other parts of it alarming. To avoid looking at the matter too closely, he said firmly, “Well, I know that I’ve been entrusted with seeing that you eat and sleep. So, come along. I’m expected back in my apartments for lunch with Ada and Thalion, if he’s back from patrol by then. You can join us.” 

Legolas didn’t know what he would have done if Theli had declined him the same way that Soldier Bothanar had. 

But Theli merely smiled, and said, “I’d like the company. Even though I am too tired to be ‘much fun,’ I’m afraid.” 

“I’ll let you off, just this once,” Legolas allowed with a grin of his own, “And Ada won’t mind too much, either. We’ll let Thalion entertain us.” 

Theli tilted his head curiously, as if trying to determine whether or not Legolas had been joking. 

“I was jesting,” Legolas explained, “My brother isn’t much of one for entertaining.” 

“You underestimate Thalion,” Theli chided lightly, “His stories can be quite funny if you get him going.” 

Legolas thought about asking how to do that, but decided that he couldn’t be bothered. He also had a vague memory of Thalion coming into his bedchamber the night before, and laying a gentle hand on Legolas’ shoulder while he murmured a blessing. Legolas realized that his relationship with his foster-brother could be complicated, but he wasn’t in the mood to try and figure out how to fix that today. 

Nor did Theli force him to do so. Instead the healer kept up a light patter of reports on the soldiers who were recovering. Legolas also thought about bringing up Mindothor’s brother Cuimborn and how he and his family were hoping to see Theli, but decided against it. Cuimborn had wanted Theli to be well-rested, and he certainly wasn’t that, yet. 

When Legolas arrived at his family’s apartments, he found another reason to be grateful that he’d invited Theli along to lunch. Thranduil had left a note explaining his need to cancel in order to deal with an issue involving the food supply from their allies in the East Bight. 

Legolas handed Theli the note instead of explaining his father’s absence. 

Theli whistled, and said, “I’m glad that I’m not there at that meeting. Your father is always in a mood whenever the Gorand of the East Bight comes up.” 

“I should be there,” said Legolas wistfully, even at the same time that part of him agreed emphatically with Theli. 

“I’m sure he would have asked for you if he really needed you, ‘Las,” Theli assured him, “Best to save your energy for when he does really need you. Because those times come often enough, when you’re here.” 

That was true enough, and made Legolas feel a little better. Thalion wasn’t back from his patrol, so it was just Legolas and Theli. It was actually a good opportunity for Legolas to bring up the issue of trying to organize rations, relief troops, and rescue preparations for the Men of Laketown in the event of an attack by the wakened dragon Smaug. He almost did, too, but then Theli nodded off in the middle of the meal. Which was quite something, since Theli normally gave good food all of his attention. 

Legolas gave up on getting anything important figured out over the meal, and just woke Theli up enough to move him from sleeping bent over at the dining table to lying on his stomach on a settee in the sitting room. Then Legolas threw a soft blanket over his friend, and went to his father’s desk. 

Thranduil always left a box of ‘To Be Dealt With Later’ documents. Legolas, who had served as his father’s regent on more than one occasion, had permission to go through that box anytime he wished. In fact, Thranduil encouraged him to do so. So Legolas picked out a petition about hunting rights from the Men of Laketown that he thought he could rough out an answer to, and got started. 

Legolas had finished with a draft reply to that petition and several others when he heard a knock at the door. The knock woke Theli, who sat up and winced as Legolas walked past him to admit his cousin Baeraeriel.


	32. It's Called Treason Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: If you want to read previous chapters of this story, they are on my AO3 page as chapters 29 and 30 of the "Tales of the Greenwood," available here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/26663481
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Master Healer Nestorion, General Rochendil, and Chief Advisor Herdir belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Chapter 4 
> 
> Quotes:
> 
>  
> 
> “Be with a leader when he is right, stay with him when he is still right, but, leave him when he is wrong.” ― Abraham Lincoln 
> 
>  
> 
> “[Their] loyalty, so fierce and unwavering, makes my eyes water and heart ache.” ― Emily Giffin 
> 
>  
> 
> Excerpt from end of Chapter 3:
> 
>  
> 
> Legolas had finished with [draft replies to several petitions on his father’s behalf] when he heard a knock at the door. The knock woke Theli, who sat up and winced as Legolas walked past him to admit his cousin Baeraeriel.

From the look on his beautiful cousin’s face, Legolas was afraid that something must have happened to her injured brother.

 

Theli clearly shared that concern, “Baeraeriel? Is Televegil doing worse?”

 

“No, no,” the tiny dark haired elleth hastened to assure them, “It’s nothing like that. He’s still doing as well as he was. Better, even. The dizziness and pain are continuing to gradually decrease.”

 

“And you’ve the day off from patrol, to spend with your brother,” Legolas recalled.

 

“Televegil is sleeping now,” Baeraeriel explained, her violet eyes still troubled, “And I have something that I want to talk to the two of you about.”

 

“Take a seat, then,” Legolas offered, still somewhat bewildered but knowing from experience that it was no good trying to hurry Baeraeriel, “I’ll pour some wine. You, too, Theli.”

 

“I’d prefer water or tea,” said Theli as he took a seat between Baeraeriel and Legolas’ accustomed chair at the table.

 

Legolas had never known Theli to drink wine, or even to take a pain draught which would cloud his mind. But Legolas had been told to make sure that Theli ate and slept, and part of that was making sure that he relaxed. Or so Legolas thought. With that in mind, he took two goblets from the sideboard and poured both his cousin and his friend a measure of a dry white wine which he remembered that Baeraeriel had liked, long ago at a family dinner.

 

Baeraeriel accepted with a nod of thanks. Legolas was rewarded by her pleased, surprised smile when she tasted the wine. Theli, meanwhile, stared at his wine goblet as if it had just insulted his mother.

 

“Drink, mellon-nin,” Legolas told him, wondering if it might be a good idea to make it an order. His father had warned him more than once not to give orders that might not be obeyed, and giving orders to Theli, especially outside of combat, was a chancy business. So maybe it wasn’t a good idea? Ah, but there was more than one way to tempt a cat to brave water.

 

Legolas lifted his glass and proposed, “A toast, to Junior Officer Mindothor.”

 

Baeraeriel and Theli raised their glasses in salute, and drank. Theli made a moue of disgust at the taste.

 

“Did you never develop a taste for wine?” Legolas asked, letting himself be amused by that instead of sad over Mindothor’s death.

 

“Honestly, no,” Theli admitted, “I had ale at war and with the Men in our unit . . . you know, back in those days. But wine, no, not really.”

 

“Well, you like lemonade,” Legolas theorized, “And those bubbly orange drinks your friends from Dol Amroth occasionally ship us. Maybe you’ll like this,” Legolas got up, opened the wine cabinet below the sideboard, and withdrew a dusty bottle of first-frost white wine from northern Gondor. It was one of his father’s prized sweeter vintages. Thranduil himself didn’t normally care for sweeter varietals, but he liked having them in case he was in a mood for them. They were also expensive and difficult to import, so he tended to save them for special occasions.

 

Legolas decanted some for Theli, and then poured a smaller measure into a fourth goblet, which he handed to Baeraeriel.

 

She sipped delicately, then shook her head with a faint smile. “Too sweet,” was her judgement. She handed the goblet back to Legolas.

 

He took it absently. But he didn’t move his gaze away from Theli, who was tasting the rare, sweet wine the same way that Legolas had seen him cautiously taste new healing potions concocted by the alchemists and apothecaries. Specifically, ones which they – and Theli – weren’t entirely certain wouldn’t turn him green, or knock him unconscious, or cause any number of other unpleasant side effects.

 

Then Theli’s face brightened as the taste of the sweet wine hit his tongue.

 

“This is actually good!” he told Legolas, taking a larger sip. 

 

Indulgently, Legolas filled his goblet, then finished the rest of Baeraeriel’s share himself. Legolas liked the sweeter wine, as a change. And he was sure that his father wouldn’t mind Legolas sharing a prized treat with a friend who had also lost a friend that week.

 

Baeraeriel lifted her first goblet, still mostly full of the dry white wine she liked, and said, “To absent friends. To the Man Eyrik, who guarded all of our backs long ago when we fought to protect the Northmen’s trade caravan from an orc raid. To little Eydis and her mother Aila, who died too young, but not, praise the trees, alone. To young Lord Brandr, who saw that the Northmen nobles and merchants who had protected those slavers were put to death. And to Lord Girion, who stayed faithful to the Men’s traditional alliance with us, despite pressure from Erebor and his own people to change the terms of our treaties in their favor. And who refused to rescind the laws prohibiting slavery in the lands Esgaroth and the Northmen.”

 

Both Legolas and Theli raised their goblets and drank, but if Theli knew what was going on and why Baeraeriel was here, then he had one up on Legolas. It was odd for Baeraeriel to bring up the days when they had all served together under Theli’s command in the joint elven and human patrol agreed upon by treaty with the Men of Esgaroth. It was even more odd for her to have brought up ‘that incident,’ that foray which had ended Theli’s career, as well as much of Legolas’ youth and faith in the ability of strength and bravery to triumph over evil.

 

Theli had given an order for his warriors to retreat to the Hall and wait for reinforcements before going after the bandit slavers who had slaughtered villages and taken captive a number of ellith, elflings, women, and children, including Eyrik’s widow Aila and her young daughter Eydis. Legolas had refused to retreat. By that insubordination, Legolas had accidentally started a mutiny which had been almost instantly been joined by other warriors who were unwilling to let the slavers get away, no matter how dangerous it was to follow them far into the Northmen’s and Ironbeards’ lands after them. And no matter how low their chances of success were.

 

Seeing that Legolas and some of his other warriors would be going after the slavers no matter what, Theli had said that he would give the order for part of the patrol – volunteers only - to go after the slavers. And that he would lead their foray. And at the same time that he would give another order for a group -including anyone who didn’t want to go after the slavers in defiance of the patrol’s operating orders - to go back to the North Hall and report what they were doing.

 

Theli had promised to give those orders, if and only if everyone in his patrol, including the mutineers, promised to say that those had been Theli’s initial, and only, orders. And promised not to tell anyone that he’d asked for volunteers only before leading the foray, so that all of his warriors would have the unquestioned protection of having only been following his orders.

 

Baeraeriel had been one of those who had been unwilling to go against the orders of her King – and common sense. Theli had put her, as one of his two lieutenants, in charge of the squad that went back to the Hall. But Baeraeriel, and all of those who had been unwilling to go, had made the promises that Theli asked for. And kept them.

 

They’d all been close, the warriors of Theli’s patrol. The Men, many of them, were the grandsons and great-great nephews of the original Men who had joined Theli’s patrol when it was first formed under treaty with the Northmen. Even though Baeraeriel and some of the others hadn’t been willing to flout Thranduil’s orders for his army, they had still been willing to protect their friends who had been determined to go after the slavers.

 

But Baeraeriel didn’t generally bring up the foray that had cost Theli his career as an officer. Thranduil hadn’t even been willing to have Theli back in his military until after Theli had saved Legolas’ life again. Legolas barely remembered that incident, but he was glad that his father had put Theli into his unit. Theli knew what he was doing, and with Theli, Legolas could be confident that they wouldn’t lose any warrior unnecessarily to injuries. Theli was also particularly alert to battle-sickness and fatigue in soldiers. Him being able to give Legolas a warning when one of Legolas’ warriors was struggling had become invaluable to Legolas.

 

Baeraeriel had always done her best to protect Theli, once he rejoined the military. But she’d never before indicated that she’d truly forgiven him for making what she’d considered at the time to be an irresponsible decision.

 

Into the silence following her toast, Baeraeriel told them “I’m not sure if you know, but my captain - Captain Teliemir - was put in charge of putting plans in place, should the dwarf lord Thorin consent to retrieving the moonstones that the dwarves owe our King from the mountain. Captain Teliemir delegated the duty for drawing up those plans and implementing them to my Senior Officer.”

 

“That’s Thalion, right?” Legolas asked, as Theli listened intently, the look in his normally expressive dark blue eyes near unreadable. Legolas found that unnerving, and had spoken in part to dispel that uneasiness.

 

“Yes,” Baeraeriel agreed, “Your foster-brother Thalion. And Thalion delegated the task of drawing up those plans and putting the appropriate officers on notice . . . to me. Since I would be right here at the North Hall where it is easy to make such arrangements. And since I need more practice with large-scale logistics, in Thalion’s opinion.” 

 

“Thalion would say something like that, yes,” said Legolas, with a huff of exasperated amusement. Legolas’ foster-brother often annoyed him, but Legolas would never deny that he wouldn’t have become half the officer and warrior he was without Thalion’s patient tutelage when Legolas had been an elfling and a newly-made soldier.

 

“You can’t argue that Thalion has a talent with logistics, though,” said Theli, “He would have made a far better Council Lord than me.”

 

“Yes,” said Baeraeriel a bit impatiently, “Thalion is one of the army’s best logisticians. And I’ve learned a lot from him. But I also learned a lot from Theli, and from you, Legolas. And now I am in charge of contingency planning for a possible guard mission, a potential rescue, and the preparation of supplies and a deployment in strength to support the humans of Laketown, our old friend’s descendants, should the dragon attack.” 

 

“Congratulations, Baeraeriel! Really,” said Legolas, pleased for his cousin and his own former lieutenant. Especially since she’d just recently had to defend herself from a waste-of-breath junior officer who’d accused her of giving him a bad evaluation for refusing to sleep with her.

 

Legolas had testified on Baeraeriel’s behalf at the army inquest, swearing under oath that, in his centuries of serving with her, he’d never seen his cousin do any such thing. Other officers and soldiers had also spoken up for her, and the tribunal had found Baeraeriel innocent of any wrong-doing. The junior officer who had accused her had decided that he was done with fighting, and had left the Greenwood for Mithlond along with his family, to take the straight road over the sea.

 

But still, accusations like that stuck in elves’ memories, no matter how untrue they had been. Legolas had had to speak sharply to a few warriors who had engaged in idle speculations about his cousin. Theli had handled the situation differently, by just asking the gossipers who they’d rather have at their backs, Baeraeriel Celuvoriel or the junior officer who’d maligned her. As the choice there was pretty obvious to anyone who’d actually served with both elves, that tactic had been fairly successful. 

 

And now Theli was still looking attentively at Baeraeriel, his head now tilted in an inquisitive fashion.

 

“I owe you,” said Baeraeriel softly but fiercely, “Both of you.”

 

Legolas looked to Theli, confused. But Theli was no help, he was still watching Baeraeriel fixedly. 

 

Which left Legolas to flounder through this conversation on his own.

 

“You . . . owe me?” He asked Baeraeriel, “For what, cousin? Telling the truth at that farce of an inquest? You owe me nothing for that.”

 

Baeraeriel sighed, and took another sip of her wine, almost as if she was fortifying herself.

 

“But I do owe you for that, Legolas,” she said, her musical voice deadly serious, “And for your and Theli having saved Televegil. Junior Officer Mindothor is dead, so I can’t pay him back for risking his life to pull my brother away from danger. And I’ve already thanked all of your other warriors, and his. But you, Legolas . . . you gave the orders to save Televegil and the others. And you held both of your squads together after Mindothor died.”

 

“And Theli,” Baeraeriel said, turning to their warrior friend who was also a healer, and one of both of their elflinghood healers, to boot, “You saved Televegil. Alagossiel said that the shock from the burns might have killed him alone, if you hadn’t been there. And that the accelerant that the orcs used in their fire-stones would have eaten through his skin and caused more damage, if you hadn’t taken the time to wash it away with wine. His head wound could have killed him if whoever had treated him had used the wrong pain-killer. Three times over, you saved his life.”

 

“I’m a healer, Baera. It’s my job,” Theli reminded her softly, “I love Televegil too, he’s a bright light in all of our lives. But I would have done it for anyone.”

 

Baeraeriel waved that away, and continued, “And I owe you both yet again. For my not having volunteered to go with you, that day outside Esgaroth. I owe you, Theli, for my not having realized that the look in Legolas’ eyes that day meant that he would have gone after those slavers with or without our patrol. That he would have gone alone if he had to, curse anything and anyone else that stood in his path.”

 

The slight but extremely capable warrior in front of them took another deep breath then continued, fear and guilt and determination all clear in her blue-violet eyes, “And, curse it all, I saw that same light in your eyes, Legolas, when you challenged your father outside the council chamber last month. You’re going to go after the cursed dragon to help those skinflint dwarves. And to keep OUR humans, Eyrik’s and Brandr’s and Girion’s descendants in grubby Laketown, as safe as we can keep them.”

 

“Er. . .” said Legolas, who was planning to do exactly that, but thought that admitting so to the rule-following Baeraeriel was probably a bad idea.

 

“We?” asked Theli, warmth as well as a disbelieving laugh in his voice.

 

“Curse me, yes, we,” pledged Baeraeriel ruefully, “Because I owe you both. I owe Legolas’ father, too. He’s our King and my cousin. And he advocated to my mother’s family for them to take her back when my Da was injured at the start of the Watchful Peace. Cousin Thranduil was the first elf to put a wooden sword in my hands. And to tell my parents that they couldn’t keep me from a warrior’s path.” 

 

“But,” Baeraeriel continued, as she turned and put the full force of her twilight-purple eyes and unyielding personality on the still-intently listening Theli, “I didn’t learn how to look at an entire skirmish while still fighting my own part of it from Thranduil. I learned it from you, Theli. And from watching Legolas and Orthadvren and your other officers learn from you.”

 

“I was good enough with my long knives and my bow that I always felt . . . held back, by the idea of leading other elves, and Men,” Baeraeriel explained passionately, “Sometimes, I could go places that other warriors, even good ones, couldn’t go. If only my officers would let me. But I never saw how to do that, and still be an officer. I learned how to, from you. I learned how to lead my soldiers and direct them, and how and when I could turn over the lead to someone else when what I was most needed for was going ahead where not all of them could follow, to buy us extra time or push forward an advance.” 

 

“Baeraeriel,” Theli said gently, “You always led from the front. You didn’t learn that from anyone. It was just you.”

 

“But I didn’t do it smartly,” Baeraeriel disagreed, “Yes, I always went ahead when I was given leave, because I wanted to give it my all, to protect the Wood and to kill those who came to harm us. But I learned to think, to wait a beat, from you. I learned when to step back, and when to regroup, and when to go forward. I never understood all of that, heart and mind, until I watched you do it, and explain how to do it. No one else ever looked at me, an elleth, and said, ‘you seem like you’ve been paying attention. Tell those archers where to aim while I take the scouts forward to flank the Enemy’s position.’ You taught me how to think and plan like a commander, because you didn’t see my being an elleth as a bar to becoming one.”

 

“But you could have learned that from anyone,” Theli pointed out, “And Thranduil would be the very first to say that you deserved a shot at a command. He has always been very proud of you, from everything that I’ve ever been able to tell.”

 

“Ada is very proud of you, Baeraeriel,” Legolas agreed, his emotions swinging wildly as it seemed that Baeraeriel was going to actually help him. But he still wasn’t willing to tell an untruth to his cousin to get her to help him. 

 

“Cousin-the-Aran Thranduil was the first to tell me that I could be an officer someday,” Baeraeriel acknowledged, “But that doesn’t change that much of what makes me a good lieutenant today, I learned first from Theli. And that, apart from not realizing that Legolas was going after the slavers no matter what any of the rest of us did, what the two of you, and those who volunteered to go with you, did that day, well . . . it stopped those slavers and their fellows from ever again killing or capturing any of our people. And curse it all, that was worth something. I don’t know if it was worth what you risked. But it was worth something.” 

 

“I’m glad that you’ve come to see it that way, Baeraeriel,” said Theli in a calming tone, “But someone had to go back to the Hall that day, to let Thranduil and the Army know where we’d gone. Any of a hundred of things could have gone wrong. The slavers could have been on their way to meet reinforcements even before they got to the Gray Mountains. We might not have been able to catch them up at all. We . . . “

 

“Ugh, please don’t go through all of that again,” Legolas groaned.

 

He was met by two censorious looks, one from his cousin and one from their former sergeant.

 

“If I’d really been a good Sergeant,” Theli said with self-deprecating good humor, “than I could have gotten you lot to listen to me when I gave the order for all of us to fall back to the Hall to get reinforcements before going after the slavers, and explained why.”

 

“Why didn’t you give that whole lecture to all of us?” Legolas asked, “You went over it ad nauseam with me, and Orthadvren, Eyvin, and Brandr.”

 

“Because I knew that it wouldn’t have made a cursed bit of difference to the four of you,” Theli said ruefully, “and all of my other warriors would have followed you, even knowing it. They’d have just been curse-it-all more scared.” 

 

“But if it had been up to you, Theli,” Baeraeriel said softly, “If it had been up to you, and I’d volunteered to go after the slavers. You would have taken me with you, and sent Orthadvren as the officer leading the contingent going back to the Hall. You would have taken me, because I was the better warrior. Because Legolas would have been more likely to listen to me. And because I could have gone ahead with Abbe and Hylda and snuck in amongst the female captives. Without me, you couldn’t have risked that – they couldn’t have pulled it off. But the three of us, together . . .”

 

There was a moment of silence while all three of them contemplated that. The idea had never even occurred to Legolas.

 

“I wouldn’t have wanted to risk the three of you that way, Baeraeriel,” Theli said, in such a way that Legolas knew that the idea had already occurred to him, and might even have worked, had Baeraeriel rode with them.

 

“I would have volunteered, Theli,” Baeraeriel said fervently, “And I should have volunteered to go with you then. I’m volunteering now. Don’t you dare reject my offer. Either of you.” 

 

Baeraeriel looked to Legolas. Theli kicked Legolas’ leg under the table.

 

Legolas wasn’t sure what to say to Baeraeriel, but he was quite sure that he didn’t care for being kicked.

 

“You don’t have to prompt me to say things, Theli,” Legolas lectured, “You can just say them yourself. We trust you.”

 

Theli sighed, “Legolas is determined. But for you, Baeraeriel. You must realize that following where he leads could lose you your career. And maybe even your life.” 

 

“Ada wouldn’t let anyone kill us,” Legolas said with complete faith, “But if you are both going to follow me into this . . . it will be mutiny.”

 

“No, my young friends,” Theil interrupted firmly, “If we do this, it’s called treason, because it’s breaking the trust of our King. Mutiny is what Legolas and Orthadvren and Eyvin did to me, on the foray far beyond the wood after those slavers, before I decided to take responsibility for everyone’s recklessness. Baeraeriel was one of only a dozen or so elves who didn’t mutiny against me. Treason is when you are mutinying against your King, or his orders, or his trust. So what I did, with my warriors, was treason, too. Even though you lot had mutinied first.” 

 

“Which you never let anyone know,” Baeraeriel said, sounding both admiring and also upset with herself. Legolas felt even worse than Baeraeriel, since it was he who had started the mutiny which had cost Theli his career, his freedom for twelve years, and a birching as well.

 

“A few guessed,” Theli told them, “including Master Nestorion. He got me to promise to tell the Elders the truth, during my civil trial for treason. The military had already finished with me, by then. The Elders promised to keep the secret, but because they knew, I was spared a sentence commensurate with true treason. A few more people have guessed the truth, since then.” 

 

“Who?” Legolas asked, wondering about his father, and whether Thranduil knew the truth.

 

Theli shook his head, “They haven’t broken my trust by telling anyone who would change the official story. So I’m not going to break their trust, either.”

 

“I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that, to protect us,” said Baeraeriel solemnly.

 

“Don’t be,” said Theli, fondly and with quiet assurance, “You’ve both made what I did worthwhile, by making something of yourselves. And let me assure you, my young friends. I haven’t missed being an officer. I wasn’t ever that good of one. My attention was always divided between being a healer and being a leader. If the Northmen hadn’t wanted only either myself or Legolas, I never would have held that high of a command position. And I had only maybe another dozen years before I needed another break from the fighting due to battle-sickness. Both of you have done better, with that. I gave my career up for yours. So that you could make something of yourselves. And you have.” 

 

Baeraeriel laughed harshly, “Yes, we have,” she ruefully acknowledged, “So that we can burn ourselves down even more spectacularly now.” 

 

“You don’t have to help me. Either of you,” Legolas reminded them, careful to make his voice neutral as he said it. 

 

Theli shook his head, “I’m your elf, Ernil-nin. I’m your father’s too, but my first loyalty is to you, to follow where you go. Your father knows that. And he accepts it, as much as he can.” 

 

“I’m loyal to you, Legolas, and to cousin Thranduil,” Baeraeriel pledged, “But, some things, they’re worth burning for. I didn’t trust you, last time, that it was one of those things. I remember when your father our king went north to face the dragons – to discourage them – and some said it wasn’t worth the risk to him. But he said that we couldn’t afford to open a war on another front. And maybe you are right, that we can’t risk waiting, and then having the dragon ally with the Enemy and come after us at the same time His servants do. And if you’re right . . . then this is worth burning for.”

 

And just like that, it wasn’t Legolas alone planning treason. The young prince found himself awed and humbled that his cousin and Theli would join him in such a chancy and dangerous endeavor. It showed trust, both in him, and in his father Thranduil. Trust that Thranduil wouldn’t do anything to terrible to them in retribution, even if, under the law, he’d have the right.

 

“We have to be very clear,” Theli spoke into the silence, “About how far we’re willing to go, and where we agree that we’ll stop.”

 

“We can’t actively commit troops to combat against the dragon without Ada’s say-so,” Legolas agreed.

 

“But we can have the plans drawn up for doing so, immediately upon his command,” said Baeraeriel, “And we can have the troops moved up towards the Hall, so that they are ready to move forward towards Laketown and Erebor-that-was, as soon as the command is given.”

 

“How?” asked Legolas.

 

Theli sighed, “Baeraeriel has to pick commanders for her contingency plans who will accept her word, or yours, for your father’s having given the order to mobilize. Then, when you decide, Legolas, that the time has come, Baeraeriel gives those orders. The army will then be ready and waiting at the edge of the Wood. And your father will have the force to respond. All he’ll have left to do is make the decision to commit. Or not.”

 

“And we can prepare the supplies for the rescue and relief of Laketown,” Baeraeriel added, “And have those ready to move.”

 

“And if the dragon attacks, we can send those supplies, and a small guard force to help move the Men of Laketown to the safety of the Hall,” said Legolas, “even without Ada’s say-so. If we’re just helping the Men without committing against the dragon, it’s not too far outside of our current treaty obligations.”

 

“Agreed,” said Baeraeriel, and Theli didn’t object. The next few hours saw the three of them talking over detailed plans, although they didn’t commit any of it to writing.

 

Their conference was interrupted by the door opening to admit Thranduil, Thalion, Thranduil’s general Rochendil, Thranduil’s chief advisor Herdir, and Captain Teliemir, who was Thalion’s and Baeraeriel’s captain and also the grandson of one of Thranduil’s former guards.

 

Legolas and even Baeraeriel gave Thranduil and the others their polite greetings, as if they hadn’t just been plotting treason. Theli groaned and laid his head down on the table. That, along with the nearly empty wine glass in front of Theli, prompted a raised eyebrow and a look of concern from Legolas’ royal father.


End file.
